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J. C. PELTON 



LIFE'S 

SUNBEAMS A «D SHADOWS 

poems ano prose 

WITH 

APPENDIX 

INCLUDING 

BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES 
IN PROSE 

VOLUME ONE 
BY 

JOHN COTTER PELTON 
»» 

INTRODUCTION BY FRANK M. PIXLEY 



SAN FRANCISCO 

Printed by THE) BANCROFT COMPANY 

1893 



T 



~p $ 2.53 1 



Copyright, 1893, by John C. Pelton 
5|5 






5i)ec[i cation 



DEEM it fitting that this little book, the result of 
great suffering and toil in later years by one who in 
pioneer days aided in laying the cornerstone of our 
Public Educational System, should be dedicated in grate- 
ful memory to the one who has also shown to the world 
the result of a life, prudent and patient, commencing like 
that of the author in the cultivation of the soil, and 
honest toil, culminating in the establishment and munifi- 
cent endowment of an educational institution which, as 
the years go by, shall extend its vast civilizing and ben- 
eficent forces in the education of our youth in this State 
and country, which shall forever challenge the admiration 
of the world as a fitting monument to the honored and 
universally cherished name — Leland Stanford. 



T OOK up, O soul.' lo, sunbeams there, 
Above where stormy billows roll — 
They pierce the shadows of despair 
And point a yonder peaceful goal. 

Sometimes I pray that shadows less 

Might rest upon my path; 
And yet, I know, they but express 

God's wisdom, not his wrath. 

O, heavenward then! lo, from above 
Descend the beams of light and love; 

They chase the shades of night away 
And change the midnight into day. 



pref 



ace 



A DESIRE this little book to be considered a testi- 
|h monial of my heart's deepest gratitude to all friends 
X who have aided me to bring it to the light of day. 

I need make no more apology for the quality of the 
matter from my own pen than to say that my work, 
especially the poetry, has been written under extraordin- 
ary circumstances of trial and suffering, as will be ex- 
plained more in detail in the appendix under the head of 
" Personal Biography and History." 

I may here say that I feel greatly indebted to those 
who have helped me in one way or another since I under- 
took the work of preparing this volume, especially as the 
failure of my own health has made the proof-reading and 
similar work impossible to myself. 

I wish especially to thank Mr. David S. Jordan of Palo 
Alto ; State Superintendent of Public Instruction, J. W. 
Anderson ; Mr. Philip M. Fisher of Oakland ; Mr. John 
Swett, Superintendent of the Schools of San Francisco ; 
and Mr. Charles K. Field, a student in the Leland Stan- 
ford Jr. University, for various acts of kindness to me. 
Col. Walkens for his magnificent address for my benefit, 
has my grateful appreciation. To Miss Eliza D. Keith, 
Mrs. Fred. Campbell and Mrs. Hellen Nellis, I am 
indebted for valuable aid in arranging material, and in 
reading final proof. While memory survives, the help of 
my friends will be gratefully appreciated. 

To my kind and generous contributors I return my 
most sincere and profound thanks, and it is only just to 
say that except for the aid of Hon. John Swett I could 
not have published this book. 



To more fully understand the circumstances under 
which this book has been written, my readers are re- 
quested to glance over the following : 

In a recent convention of State Superintendents in 
San Francisco, State Superintendent Anderson arose and 
spoke as follows : 

" I now have the pleasure of introducing to the superin- 
tendents assembled here, ex-Superintendent John C. 
Pelton of San Francisco, who will occupy but a few 
moments of your time." 

Mr. Pelton spoke as follows : 

" Friends, Ladies and Gentlemen : 

I suppose that at this moment I am the most unpre- 
pared of speakers to come before an audience. I have 
with the right hemisphere of my half-paralyzed brain 
an incurable and unceasing torture that lis simply terri- 
ble, and my extreme deafness renders my voice inaudible 
to myself, and when I attempt to speak I am not aware 
whether the sounds from my lips reach you in the discor- 
dant tones of saw and file, or in the melody of a street 
organ. I shall, however, take the chances. 

I will only occupy a few moments by saying that at 
this late period of my life, I am trying with all my might, 
with all the power that is yet left to me, to repair the 
damages of the past twenty years that have been ab- 
stracted from my life. Twenty years ago I should have 
taken a rest, but I incautiously still continued at my 
post until exhaustion and an almost fatal accident com- 
pelled a halt. At that time I received a fall from my 
buggy to the ground, which put a stop to my connection 
with the schools of this State. Of the time from 1849 to 
1873 I need not speak, but since that time I can truth- 
fully say that my life has been one of most unusual 



suffering and toil and struggle. By the kindness of 
friends — and I beg the pleasure of referring to Superin- 
tendent Swett and Superintendent Anderson as my old 
comrades — I have been creeping out slowly but surely 
from beneath that dark and heavy burden under which I 
do think most men would have hopelessly fallen. But 
having been accustomed to struggle all my life, I have 
kept up my courage, and I have had no doubt — I never 
have doubted that in some way through God's Providence 
I will yet stand again upon my feet and have a roof 
above my head. I may here say, I think with propriety, 
that my first house in which I dwelt in California was 
mortgaged and lost in the effort — and the successful 
effort — to keep open the schools of this city, when the 
city had been repeatedly burned up, and could not pay 
my teachers. My next shelter I lost during a period of 
seven years when the city was prosperous, while I lay 
helpless and could do nothing. My last, has the shroud 
of mortgage upon it and is foreclosed, occurring under 
circumstances as unhappy, perhaps, and struggles as 
severe on my part to release it, as ever an old man has 
been engaged in. Latterly my effort has been to write a 
book which shall be acceptable to the Superintendents 
and teachers of the State ; which shall be acceptable to 
my old pupils and friends and comrades ; and which 
shall have the character that will entitle it to a place in 
the households of the State" — in the public schools 
especially ; and I believe it will be found of a character 
which will meet the approval of competent critics and of 
my kindest friends, too, — Prof. Jordan, Mr. Swett, Prof. 
Anderson, and a host of others. All have encouraged 
me in the effort to write such a book as shall in itself be 
a stimulus to the poor boys of the State, and encourage- 
ment to the young, and such as shall tend to soothe the 
pangs of the old and afflicted. I am sure, my friends, 



that you will cheerfully aid me in this project. If I 
succeed in this, I trust that from the last heavy burden 
of my life I shall be speedily relieved. 

I beg to congratulate my friends here that while I am 
wrecked on the lee shore, you are yet sailing on smooth 
seas, beneath bending canvas, and before an auspicious 
breeze. I congratulate you, the younger, the healthful, 
and the vigorous, that you are in that field of labor in 
which you are permitted to build monuments more 
illustrious than those that have been erected over warriors 
and statesmen, (for I would rather be a schoolmaster 
to-day, if I could, than to be the highest dignitary, civil 
or military, in the land.) I congratulate you that each 
and all of you are building monuments, each for himself 
with foundations deep and firm, which I pray God may 
rise higher and higher until their benignant shadows 
spread over the State, until their peaks reach Heaven, 
until they are gilded by suns that never set. 

So far as it may come within your providence, and be 
consistent with your sense of propriety, I trust you will 
help to give my book a wide circulation. That is the 
only favor I ask. I have never appeared in the State as 
a beggar, and do not appear in that character now. 

I see here before me some who, in my start in this work, 
were my first subscribers. I see my first subscriber, 
from San Diego, the very first to put his name to my 
paper with a dubious shake of his head, as he said, " I do 
not think you can accomplish that task." I see other 
friends who first passed round the hat in favor of my 
subscription. God bless them ! I trust my book may 
meet with their favor and receive their aid, and in that 
way I doubt not it may be helped to a successful issue. 
I feel confident that it will succeed ; my hope has never 
flagged, and my faith in God rests firm and unfaltering. 
(Applause.)" 



tf o ntents . . . „ 

PAGE 

Dedication 3 

P eface 5 

Introduction 13 

No Music Thrills My Lyre 26 

Nil Desperandum 31 

The Golden Era 33 

Thanksgiving Charlotte Perkins Stetson 34 

The True Teacher 35 

I Must Succeed 3G 

"Honor Thy Father" 36 

Twilight Joaquin Miller 37 

Bye and Bye 38 

'Forty-nine to 'Ninety-one 38 

The Baby William Peddler 39 

Reflection 40 

Leland Stanford 40 

Proverbial Wisdom John Kendrick Bangs 41 

If We Knew Rose Hartzvick Thorpe 42 

From Shasta's Proudly Towering Crest 42 

Sunday Morn 43 

My Picture Grace Mahoney 44 

My Mother's Chair 46 

"No Garnered Sheaves" 47 

What Then? 48 

San Luis 49 

One Only Oscar V. Shuck 50 

The Chain of Time 51 

The Deaf Christian's World Mary Wood- Allen 52 

My Joys 53 

Forward Francis Howard Williams 53 

Who Loves His Fellow-Man 54 

Art's New Year's Gift Oscar Shuck 55 

Dignare, Domine 56 

The Polar Wave John J. Craven 57 

Once a Year 60 

Hope 61 

Science and Religion Ella Wheeler Wilcox 62 

The Tragedy Charles Edwin Markham 62 

Lines to J. C. Peltou Nellie Blessing Eyster 63 



10 

PAGE 

My Sun IV. D. Townsend 63 

The Star of Hope 65 

ViveVols David Starr Jordan 66 

Our Guiding Star (Invocation) 68 

Governor Markham 68 

Our Dear Old "Turk" 69 

Aeolia (Auburn, California) 70 

Beautiful San Diego 72 

God, Pity Me (A Rondeau) 74 

On a Recent Death at Coronado 74 

On an Old Road Charles Edwin Markham 75 

Earth's Myriad Chimes 76 

"Sometime" 77 

Consoling Thoughts 78 

Too Soon, Beloved Son 79 

My Mother 80 

The Pebble 82 

Bunker Hill, 1776 83 

"Haste" 84 

The Poet Charles Edwin Markham 86 

God 87 

To My Dear Wife 87 

To an Author 88 

The Fallen Leaf 89 

My Uttle Cot 90 

What am I? 91 

'Tis Well 92 

Life Scene 93 

Apprehensions 93 

With Thee, Dear Dove 95 

My Church 96 

It is Finished! It is Done (Douglas Gunn, late Mayor of 

San Diego) 97 

My Blighted Flower 99 

Truth 100 

Kalakaua 101 

The Marriage Tie 102 

Does It Pay? 103 

Morning 105 

The Deaf Man's Sigh 107 

My Christmas by the San Joaquin Hu Maxwell 108 

Duty Ill 

The Spanish Padre 112 



11 

PAGE 

Governor Waterman 118 

Infancy 1M 

The Light of the World— The Bible 114 

One Dollar a Day 116 

A Little Bit Away Lillian Phmkett 117 

We've Wandered 118 

Returning 119 

Beware ■ 119 

Death 120 

The Promise 121 

The Waifs of the Glens (Anita) 122 

Birth and Death at the Glens (Mercy) 124 

Freda 125 

The Cloudy Sky 126 

" Sometime, Somewhere" 127 

A Requiem... 128 

Conscience 129 

Reason 129 

Affection 130 

Charity 131 

Hope 132 

Faith 132 

Eternal Love 133 

Love 134 

To My Own 135 

Our Little Sleepers 135 

The Morn of Life 136 

Passion and Love 137 

Child's Dance 138 

Dreams 139 

If But They Knew 140 

Duty 142 

The New Year 142 

The Poet's Recompense 145 

Truth— The Rock 149 

O Weary Soul! 149 

Life 151 

The Question 152 

Reflection Vl53 

Looking Hence 154 

A Philosopher 155 

Virtue 156 

Neglected Dies « 157 



12 

PAGE 

The Hope 158 

Sherman-Porter 159 

To Our Questions What Responses are Given? 160 

Infancy 161 

Where are They? 163 

Peaceful Within 163 

Those Little Stockings 164 

Friends and Foes , 164 

The Silvery Wing 165 

Deserted 166 

Softly, Tenderly 168 

The Vacant Chair 169 

My Religion 170 

Build Firm 172 

Hail, Heavenly Truth 173 

The Two Paths 173 

Alone 175 

Early Love 175 

The Rose and Bay 176 

Welcome to President Harrison 177 

The Coming of the Kings John Vance Cheney 179 

Two Hearts in One 180 

Saturday Night 180 

Palo Alto 182 

The Bachelor's Plaint , 183 

Deaf and Mute (Sonnet) 184 

Hopes and Fears Nestor A. Young 185 

Hope.. Nestor A. Young 186 

Kiss Them Away 187 

Hear, O Hear! 187 

A Question D. F. Hodges 189 

Winter Midnight D. F. Hodges 189 

Thou Everywhere D. F. Hodges 190 

My Picture 190 

Our Lot 191 

My Choice— Answer to "Twilight" 192 

Mrs. David Hewes (In Memoriam) 193 

A Dream 194 

Mrs. George H. Buck (In Memoriam) 195 

Mrs. Theresa Fair (In Memoriam) 196 

Wedded, not Married (R. and B.) 197 

An Honest Man Dr. H. D. Cogswell 198 

Appendix A 199 

I'am Sixty-Seven 243 

Our Solace 246 

Appendix B 247 

Testimonials and Correspondence 256 



<#atroc[uetioi2 




[Written by Frank M. Pixley oi The Argonaut.] 

SPLENDID immigration was that which 
in 1849 came from the Eastern States 
to California — some of it from the East 
and some from the West, and some 
from the South. Brave, strong, young 
men, full of ambition and energy, going 
forth from college, school and home ; 
from mothers and sisters, from newly 
married wives, from sweethearts freshly 
betrothed, to find and work the new El- 
dorado in the distant unknown land. 
Some by companies, in sailing vessels, around the Horn ; 
some as passengers by steamers, and across the Isthmus 
of Panama ; some by mule and ox navigation, over the 
trackless plains and broad prairies, over mountain and 
desert. Eastern men sought the ocean voyage ; from the 
cities of the Atlantic seaboard, most came by way of 
Panama ; but from the boundless West — from the valleys 
of the Ohio, the Tennessee, the Mississippi, and the 
Missouri — the farmers' boys came with their great 
ox-wagons, their long mule-trains, with mounted out- 
riders and men plodding along, foot-sore and weary, on 
shank's mare. Of the passage of the stormy Cape, or 
perhaps the more eventful and dangerous one of the 
tropics, we can not speak ; but the trip across our great 



14 

continent we remember with enthusiasm. Its very- 
dangers gave zest to it ; its hardships were pleasures ; it 
was a long, splendid summer picnic ; every minute was 
a joy, every hour a delight ; and especially when the dull 
monotony of the prairie land dropped behind us, and we 
neared the mountain horizon and reached splendid forests, 
the deep ravines, the towering heights, the grassy valleys, 
rivulets, streams, and mountain torrents. Game ! The 
lumbering buffalo, the shy and graceful antelope, the 
gaunt, gray wolf, the cowardly, thieving coyote, the timid 
deer ; the splendid elk, with his lofty head, great loving 
eyes, branching horns, and proud, disdainful trot ; 
pheasants, hare, and plumaged birds ; shining speckled 
trout in sparkling streams ; cold, clear, leaping waters, 
bounding down the sides of rocky heights. It was a 
glorious summer ride, that across our continent in 1849. 
Of our brave comrades — and only a little band — one, a 
Virginian, died in the valley of the Missouri, with cholera; 
one, an Indianian, fell crushed and broken in a stampede 
of the trained animals ; one, a Swede (the bravest of us 
all), was pierced to his death, as he lay sleeping at our 
camp fire, by the poisoned arrow of a Pitt River Indian ; 
a German boy we picked up, with his shotgun and setter 
dog — he had no money, but, with dog, and gun, and brave 
heart, he was crossing the plains for the new Eldorado, 
and we brought them both safely in. Where now is the 
flourishing city of Denver, we camped on an uninhabited 
plain ; where now is the flourishing city of the Great Salt 
Lake, we saw the argonauts of the saints, living in their 
emigrant wagons, among their corn fields, and worship- 
ing in a tent covered with green boughs, laying the 
foundations of their new Zion and their polygamous 
families. All along the broad valleys of the Platte River 
now transformed into a splendid empire of grain and corn; 
dotted with comfortable homes and prosperous cities ; all 



15 

along and up the Rocky mountain sides, where now are 
towns and grassy ranges covered with flocks and herds 
— there the buffalo roamed, the wolf howled, and coyote 
barked. We crossed — in Nevada — great silver treasures 
buried ; and curiously enough, camped of a Sunday in 
the valley of Mary's River, now called the " Humboldt," 
and we drove our mules through the Devil's Canyon, 
feeding them on the grassy slopes of Mount Davidson 
and Gold Hill — a narrow escape from becoming mil- 
lionaires. On the first night after reaching Eldorado 
county, the writer slept in a ravine, beside a log to which 
his mules were tethered — a place revisited in the Stanford 
campaign, to be informed that more than a hundred 
thousand dollars had been dug within the circumference 
of the mule's lariat. We do not know how many 
immigrants came that year to California, but they were 
brave hearts — splendid youth, giving promise of splendid 
men ; they gave the promise they have kept to form a 
Republican State to be consecrated to liberty and law, 
and to be ever preserved against foreign machinations of 
alien anarchists. But it was not our intention to write of 
the immigration of 1849. One there was who came along 
in the rush and crush of the surging, boisterous, jolly mob 
of dare-devil gold-hunters unlike the rest of us. He was 
a gentle, low-spoken, modest youth ; he was the graduate 
of a learned university, and so were many of us; he left a 
theological institution to prepare himself for the pulpit of 
the Episcopal Church. We were some of us doctors, 
lawyers by profession ; but we came to dig gold, to make 
money, to have a good time. With perhaps, the most of 
us this journey was a lark. Our friend came for a purpose; 
he had an "aim." We carried pistols in the red silk 
sashes that upheld unsuspended trousers, and knives in 
our boots or down our necks, as we had read was the 
custom of the brave, roving bandits we thought ourselves 



16 

to be. Our friend, the quiet one, carried a Book of 
Common Prayer and a Testament in his grip-sack. We 
let our hair grow long and tied it in a queue with a buck- 
skin string, and swore in Spanish great, round curious 
oaths, which we did not think so very wicked because we 
did not know their meaning — and we think the most of us 
were impressed with the conviction that the Heavenly 
Father only understood English, and that St. Peter's 
books were not at all likely to be kept in Spanish. If we 
did not thus think and reason, we did not reason at all 
— for that the immigration of 1849 was wicked we will 
never admit. It may have become wicked later. We 
were intent first upon gold-mining, and after that, any- 
thing there was money in — anything that would pan out 
the dust ; saloon-keepers, gamblers, rancheros with 
buck-skin trousers, broad -brimmed sombrero of the yellow 
vicuna that cost an ounce, saddles with tapaderos and 
jingling spurs, and bridles adorned with silver trimmings. 
To successfully throw the lariat for the broncho or 
bounding a steer was an accomplishment. The restaurant 
was a mine of money; a lodging house with rooms of 
cloth and paper was a mint ; a steamboat was an Eldorado 
in itself ; a band of pack-mules ranked its owner with 
India's merchant princes ; the owner of a stage line was 
an opulent capitalist ; a butcher who drove and killed at 
the mine was a great benefactor, almost equal to the 
express company that forwarded our letters and delivered 
them to the grateful miner for a dollar apiece — for this 
was the time when we were eating onions and potatoes 
raw which cost us a dollar a pound, when vinegar was a 
luxury, and pickles a rare indulgence, and when the 
gentlemen of San Francisco had their washing done at 
the Sandwich Islands. We must pun up. We are paid 
by the column, and are growing, we fear, garrulous with 
age. Those old memories come thronging upon us at 



17 

times, bringing the recollection of a period when young 
men were brave and adventurous — when they toiled, and 
dared, and endured, to accumulate ; when there was 
never heard from drunken throats the doctrine of socialism 
and the division of the savings which had not been spent 
in gin, or at the brothel, or gambling hell ; when men 
who lost their earnings did not squeal, and when poverty 
and bad luck overtook idleness and dissipation, men did 
not look round for some industrious, sober, provident, and 
successful man whom they might curse and rob because 
he had accumulated while they had squandered — recol- 
lections of a time when our beautiful State was filled with 
Americans who recognized that the fruits of labor belonged 
to those who toiled for it, and not to those who struck and 
rioted and set the law at defiance ; recollections of a time 
when criminals were given short shift and speedy rope, 
when property was made unsafe and life insecure. There 
is more of rioting, and murder and misrule to-day in San 
Francisco than in those times when vigilance committees 
were called to the assistance of the law. In the indulgence 
of these pleasant memories and later regrets, we have 
forgotten our divinity student. He had not turned gold- 
digger or money-seeker, poor devil. He became a school- 
master, and here in San Francisco, amid its sand-dunes, 
and tents, and seething population, he gathered a few 
children around him and began to teach them; he laid 
the foundation of our school system ; that is, he brought 
the root and planted it here to grow up into a great 
institution, with its now seventy thousand pupils ; he 
laid the foundation of an educational system on these 
shores of the Pacific, now extending from the ever-to-be- 
cherished system of the kindergarten to the university, 
through all the intermediate schools of art, science, 
theology, literature and general learning. How patiently 
he toiled, how self-denyingly, we know. He was not 



18 

unsuccessful; his wife joined and cheered him. He had 
a wife — all young preachers marry early. He had babies 
— all poor men have. He attained high honor in his 
calling, and became Superintendent of Schools. While 
the rest of his old comrades followed their pursuits — some 
successfully, and some to ruin and disaster — he jogged 
along in the even tenor of his uneventful way, had a 
congenial and a paying occupation, indulged himself in 
the luxury of an easy conscience and a happy home. 
And then came a change. We hurry over it to spare our 
readers sorrowful details. The process of going down hill 
when one has lost his grip is an exceedingly easy one. 
Let us simply enumerate his misfortunes, which followed 
him in quick succession : Politics came into the school 
department ; younger and more pushing men took his 
place ; his accumulations were small, and he lost them ; 
his home was mortgaged, and it was foreclosed and sold ; 
his home was no more his, and he was forlorn and desolate; 
his eyesight failed, and he could scarcely see; his hearing 
failed, and he could with difficulty hear ; and then there 
came upon him the last, most dreadful of all calamities, 
his brain softened and his health gave way. " I had," 
said he, as he told us the story but a few days ago, "just 
enough lingering brain-power to realize that I was an 
intellectual and physical wreck. I saw myself helplessly 
and hopelessly drifting down the current of life's stream to 
imbecility and poverty. I felt that I was a burden to my 
family and friends, and the only thing I saw before me 
was a life of dependent mendicancy, living off small 
charities grudgingly given. I had not lost my moral 
sense, and I still had enough of pride to prefer death 
to such a fate, and I determined to leave San Francisco. 
So against the wishes of my friends and the protestations 
of my family, I determined to go away — where I did 
not care ; to what fate I did not care. My friends 



19 

expected as they saw me go, to have the expense of 
bringing back my body for burial ; and this, I think they 
would have done, and I went." This was some ten years 
ago, and he had drifted out of our recollection ; for years 
we had not thought to inquire for him, and his name had 
not been mentioned in our hearing. Had any one asked 
us, we should have guessed him dead. How easy it is to 
forget the unfortunate ! How soon the unsuccessful pass 
from memory! How gratified we really are that they do 
not bother us ! 

We caught ourselves only the other day passing an old 
acquaintance who was blind, without stopping to give him 
even a friendly word. He was poor. We eased our con- 
science by putting a quarter of a dollar into the tin cup 
of a blind fellow playing the flute. He was an American, 
else we had made it a nickel; that is the distinction we 
make between blind Americans who play the flute and 
blind beggars from abroad who come to this country to 
ply their vocation with hand-organs. When, unexpect- 
edly, our old friend opened the door and looked in upon 
us, with his face all tanned and radiant, his eyesight 
restored, his hearing improved, a bright smile as of old, 
played over his countenance. " I see you are busy. Only 
called to pay my respects. Don't want to borrow any 
money. How are you, old fellow, any way? Long time 
since I have seen you." We were glad to see him; we 
knew we were, for he "did not want to borrow." We 
closed the door and turned the key, and gave him our 
hand and a seat, and we made him feel he was welcome, 
and he told his story. We will epitomize it more briefly 
than he told it, but even the salient points of a romance 
like this will, we think, enable us to point a moral. He 
went down to one of the great southern counties that 
border our Pacific sea-board — to the land of the pome- 
granate and the olive, land of the fig-tree and the vine, 



20 

the land so attractive to the one-lunged fellow-citizen, 
who booms land by buying climate; to the well-to-do 
person who, for his own failing health, or for that of a 
loved wife or darling child, seeks this most delightful 
spot of God's earth to recruit; flees from cyclones, sun- 
strokes, cold waves, the bite of mad dogs, and a climate 
that is severe enough in winter to have justified Milton 
in giving us an arctic hell, instead of one hot with sulphur 
fires, as a terror to sinners; a climate where pestilence 
steals abroad, where endemic, epidemic, and infectious 
deseases lie in wait; a land of storms, of rain and hail, 
of snow and sleet, and discomfit; where sheep die in 
lambing time, and cattle must be housed and fed in 
winter; a country especially fitted to raise emigrants for 
California. Reaching one of the prosperous villages — 
called, of course, a " city " — in that prosperous country, 
penniless, he saw a town wasteful of its swill, and out- 
side the city limits, feeding upon the grass, a great herd 
of swine. His brain made keen by travel and necessity, 
saw the opportunity — to bring swill and hogs together — 
and there was, if not millions in it, at least an holiest 
chance to earn an honest dollar. Seeking out the Ranch- 
ero de Puercos — a good, easy, generous pioneer, he entered 
into a bargain with him to take certain hogs by weight, 
feed them, and by weight return them, to be paid the 
difference at so much per pound. An unemployed and 
convenient field, hastily and cheaply improvised troughs, 
a pair of pails, a shoulder yoke, and our man of the 
schools, of pious birth and cultured breeding, was a dealer 
in village swill and producer of pork. In a little while 
he pre-empted a hundred and sixty acres of government 
land, covered with timber good for fire-wood. He chopped 
cord- wood, and securing a horse and cart on credit, he 
cut and drew wood to the city, slept under his cart when 
out over night, for a hotel was not within his means; 



21 

erected for himself a cabin, in which lie slept, cooked and 
kept his horse — for him there were no restaurant meals, 
they were too costly. His labor was constant, or his hogs 
would squeal. His health improved, his eyesight came 
back strong and clear, he regained somewhat his hearing, 
his brain became unclouded, and at the end of four months 
he drove his hogs back to their owner, and brought away 
seven hundred dollars in profit. The town needed water, 
and he bought a water-cart, and then another, and then 
another; one he drove himself and collected his water- 
dues, fixing his own water-rates by bargain between him- 
self and the consumer, as he could not have done if he 
had brought the water in iron pipes, for in that event the 
water consumers would have fixed their own rates, and 
become supervisors and gone to the legislature and ran for 
Congress and Governor upon the issue; and then a rail- 
road came along near enough to his land to enhance its 
value, and he took a grading contract and bought more 
carts and hired more men to drive them, and overlooked 
them himself. Now, this man of sixty years of age with 
a competence assured for life, is on a visit to San Fran- 
cisco, happy, healthy, and welcomed by old friends. This 
tale 18 not told from fanciful imagination, for it is a truth- 
ful one to its minutest detail. It has a moral. Sometimes 
we regret that the Argonaut has not among the working 
classes a greater circulation. This story will be read on 
Christmas Day in the circles of the easy and the well-to- 
do; it will be on center-tables in luxurious parlors, covered 
with Christmas gifts, around which, after the Christmas 
feast, will gather the rich and the happy, and how little 
this class know of the poverty which lies around them, 
and how seldom do they allow themselves to ask: What 
can we do to make lighter the burdens of our felrsw- 
mortals? This moral is not for them, for they do not 
need to carry swill and feed pigs, nor chop wood, nor draw 



22 

water, nor contract for labor on railroads, and in wishing 
them a merry Christmas we may hope the time far away 
when the mother shall lie white and cold in death, and 
when the father, old, blind, deaf, and mentally bewildered, 
shall be compelled to carve out for himself a new fortune 
in so hard a way. Our moral is for the young, the stalwart, 
and the alien who has come to this country since 1849; to 
the American who has lost heart and courage; to the 
genteel poor hanging by their eye-lids on the ragged edge 
of polite society; to the men and women who are too 
proud'to beg, who are periling the morals of their boys 
and the souls of their daughters by exposing them to the 
temptations of a city life without enough money to satisfy 
the artificial wants that surround them; to the men who 
spend their earnings at the beer-hall, or the gin-dive, or 
the genteel saloon; to the great, hulking, stalwart, idle 
rioter who will strike against every work at less than $2.50 
per day; to the brainless, political agitator, the long- 
tongued, brazen-faced, noisy creature, whose idea of 
political economy is in the teachings of the un-American, 
cowardly boycott, and the criminal and forceful resistance 
against the American laborer who is willing to take the 
place made vacant by the abandonment of the foreign 
invader. Sometimes we think if such a paper as the 
Argonaut could be circulated among the laboring classes, 
or if the spirit of Americanism and law could be infused 
into the now cowardly and mercenary press, that good 
would come of it, and enough of American spirit be 
aroused to defy this agrarian and social anarchy that is 
among us and threatening the peace of society. If these 
men would go out into the country and find themselves 
farms or other occupations, we are sure they would better 
their conditions, and we are quite certain that their 
absence would be grateful to all respectable men and 
decent women. 



parf dd 

•■^HEN the foregoing was written some six years ago, 
the writer supposed, as did all the old school- 
master's friends, that he had fought his last 
serious battle of life, and had won a deserved and 
sublime victory over what had so long seemed a 
rebellious destiny. But it seems in his case, as in many 
others, there is an adverse " divinity which shapes our ends 
rough hew them as we may." Our friend had scarcely 
left our office, when he received information from San 
Diego that warned him of the necessity of his imme- 
diate return. The boom, which he had left in the full 
blaze of its meridian, was now showing unmistakable 
signs of collapse ; real estate agents were jostling each 
other upon the streets, but few finding business ; and 
those who remained at their desks had fewer calls. The 
investors in new town lots a few days before were now 
offering their real estate at astounding reductions on 
former prices, and accepting, therefor, almost any figure 
whatsoever, if in good solid cash. 

Those who escaped ruin from that collapse had the 
same good reason to bless their stars which a man should 
have when saved from a foundered ship, while hundreds 
sink to rise no more. 

And so our old friend on his immediate return to San 
Diego, found that his confidence in friends, with whom 
he had intrusted his business, had been rewarded by the 
rarest of stupidity, if not by downright perfidy. It did 
not matter which ; for his ruin was overwhelming and 
complete. And so again, at sixty-three years of age, he 
found himself once more upon a bare bedrock, and over- 
whelmed with financial obligations impossible to meet. 



24 

With a heart heavy with sorrow, with a head well nigh 
crazed by crushing misfortune, shattered and broken, with 

the exceeding infirmities of age bearing full weight upon 
his heart and hand and soul, our old friend, J. C. Pelton, 
attempts the impossible task of building up again. He 
rather attempts a second resurrection of himself from the 

dust and ruins of a former life by the sweat of his brow 
and the labor of his enfeebled hands. 

Friends of Professor Pelton in San Diego, — and he had 
friends still, and to the credit of humanity, of that kind 
that cling closer as the necessity becomes the stronger, — 
but these friends saw the utter hopelessness of his strug- 
gle, which he would not himself see, though for a time 
they lent their material aid. It was no use ; aid was no 
help; it only prolonged, and did not in the least abate 
the severity of his struggles, nor lessen the miseries of the 
situation. All saw, and clearly enough, that only the 
doom of a new poverty awaited him, and one so bitter 
and terrible that death would have been a happy relief. 
But death came not, only the keen humiliation and suf- 
fering and struggle and toil and sweat, and the heartache 
which followed did come, and were so harsh that the 
record of vicissitude offers few parallels. We have not 
in all our gleanings of personal history met with anything 
to compare with it. The story of several years is but the 
unbroken record of sorrow and episode of humiliation, 
crushing blows of unrelieved disaster — unrelieved, except 
that when overwhelmed with some new trouble which 
he found himself powerless to stay, Professor Pelton, 
as in former years of grievous trial, found relief in 
the use of his pen. It is said that the old professor 
was never without his pencil and ready scraps of paper. 
These were his companionship — these his associates ami 
friends; others might fail, but these never. A bit of 
board in his lap was his convenient writing desk when 



25 

upon his wagon ; a window pane or smooth wall was 
equally available when upon the streets of San Diego. 
And when night came, and camp fires were lighted, 
the paper and pencil and the dim light of blazing faggots 
helped to dispel the gruesome without and keep alive the 
struggling flame within. 

To add to the painfulness of the situation it must be 
remembered that in the heyday of bright hopes our old 
friend had married again, while upon his visit to San 
Francisco. So then, moved by every impulse of ambition 
and every prompting of affection, and urged by keenest 
demands of necessity, he now undertook what all besides 
himself saw to be hopelessly impossible of accomplish- 
ment. As already stated various friends helped a little, 
and a snug cabin took the place of the shanty which in 
better days had been the old gentleman's poultry house. 
And now hoping that his former knowledge of the poultry 
business might stand him in good stead, to this enterprise 
he gave his chief attention. An incubator was bought 
on credit, but before much could be done with it, a con- 
stable by his business rendered sordid, if not soulless, 
alert for his piece, seized and took it away. The ranch 
had been mortgaged and the principal was not far from 
due. It was evident, therefore, that something must be 
done immediately. So the incubator was redeemed by a 
former pupil. But only a precarious and slender subsis- 
tence was thus secured, to say nothing of paying off 
mortgages. Indeed it often happened that the founder 
of the first free public school in California walked the 
streets of San Diego in clothing which should have been 
long since thrown aside as too shabby, and without a 
penny in his pocket, and with a well nigh worn out brain 
to dream of and contrive the ways and means for another 
day's subsistence. And this question of subsistence 
became a most serious one, as little ones, almost unwel- 



26 

corned, came to his home, who could not always be 
decently clad or suitably fed. And about this time 
came the terrible Tia Juana flood which badly wrecked 
his ranch. He had scarcely recovered from this stunning 
blow when he was thrown from his wagon and suffered 
the severe fracture of three ribs. And the old injury to 
his head at this period gave him constant and terrible 
suffering (the doctors advised that he had an incurable 
brain trouble, perhaps in the form of a tumor.) In the 
midst of the storm referred to above, one of his children 
died, seven days after birth, literally killed by the misfor- 
tunes, anxieties, and overwork of the mother. And among 
these great troubles and calamities were innumerable 
minor griefs and ills, interminable and insufferable. 

One night as the afflicted old gentleman lay meditating 
upon the dreary outlook he called for his pencil and 
paper, the usual solace for his woes, and wrote the follow- 
ing verses which were published next day in the San 
Diego Sun: 

1Ro fl&usic TTbrills /il>g %vvc 



w 



fO music thrills my lyre, 

No angel whispers through its strings, 
No muse her joy or sorrow sings 
Through its neglected tuneless strings — 
No music thrills my lyre. 

Aye, silent hangs my lyre. 
No love its gloomy silence breaks, 
Nor joy, nor pain, nor grief awakes, 
Nor sorrow from its grief shakes 

My silent, tuneless lyre. 

In silence hangs my lyre. 
Its songs of old forgotten all, 
And o'er it drapes a somber pall — 
Ah, who from death to life may call? 

Who wake again my lyre? 



27 



Aye, silent hangs my lyre. 
Its chords are ladened thick with dust, 
Its keys are clogged with cankering rust, 
And o'er it all a mouldy crust — 

Thus silent hangs my lyre. 

Aye, silent still my lyre. 
What hand shall brush the dust away? 
What finger o'er its chords shall play? 
What voice shall wake its night to day? — 

My loved, yet silent lyre ! 

Aye, loved, yet silent lyre ! 

Shall Love relight the sacred fire? 
Shall Faith assert its former sway ? 
Or Hope assure a brighter day, 
Whose beams through shadows yet may play — 

And wake my silent lyre ! 

But silent hangs my lyre ; 
While whitening locks, and bowing head, 
Unsteady hand and tottering tread, 
To sweat, and toil, and sorrows wed — 

All silent hangs my lyre. 

Yet Duty answers : " Hush be still, 

Though silent be thy lyre, 
Not joyless be thy homely hearth 
Where love's sweet notes may yet have birth, 
Where laugh and glee, and childhood mirth, 

Thine heart with raptures sweet may thrill 

While silent hangs thy lyre.'' 

Aye, Duty, Btern commands : 
" To Heaven's sweet rest aspire ; 
In toil, and sweat, and grovelling dust 
Eat thee content the beggar's crust. 
Relentless fate, yet yield ye must — 
Stern duty thus demands. 

"While silent be thy lyre, 
While pangs, and pains, and toils, and tears, 
And boding doubts and gloomy fear, 
Attend life's waning, weary years, 
To Heaven's sweet rest aspire. 



28 

''Though silent hangs thy lyre — 
Though earth may frown, in heaven is rest, 
Who reach it first is he most blest. 
Behold thee, then, the glowing West, 
Where wakes the golden lyre ! 

"Though silent long thy lyre, 
Look ye, with hope to realms afar — 
In duty find thy guiding star — 
No fates shall thence thy progress bar 
Where wakes the golden lyre." 

Immediately after the publication of the foregoing 
many other epigrammatic poems and lyrics appeared in 
the local press of San Diego from the venerable Professor's 
pen, to wit : " Welcome to President Harrison" ; "We'll 
all get there " ; " What then? " " Nil Desperandum," etc., 
etc.; and the conviction became general that such gems 
of verse were too good to be lost; and furthermore that it 
was quite possible, at least so thought many, that the 
collection and publication of Mr. Pelton's writings, 
together with a history of the pioneer movements of 
public education in California, in which he had been 
the prime mover, might put a new and more cheerful 
aspect upon his financial problems. 

And here we may say briefly that in the foregoing nar- 
rative will be found the causes and conditions which 
have brought this little book to see the light of day. It 
has been an immense undertaking for an old man exceed- 
ingly infirm, and with no other capital than hope and 
endurance, supplemented still by an unusual confidence 
in his waning powers. 

Of the unique and original character of "Sunbeams 
and Shadows " there is here no occasion to write at length. 
We do not claim for our author that he is a great poet, 
though his themes for the most part are of a high order 



29 

and well handled. A glance through his pages will con- 
vince an intelligent reader that his writings — his poems 
especially — have intrinsic merit which will cause this 
book to be read and esteemed more and more when the 
writer and author has long since departed. It is cer- 
tainly a book which will arouse deep interest and receive 
a cordial welcome, and attain a wide'circulation in the state 
of California. It should, indeed, at once find a place in 
the public and private libraries, and in every district school 
library of the state, and a welcome place in every house- 
hold. In it the young and struggling ambitious will find 
a sympathetic friend, and a stimulus for their genius ; 
and the old, worn and weary cannot fail to obtain such 
sympathy and such consolation as few are better prepared 
to feel and to extend than the author of this book. For 
he has patiently and heroically traversed about every 
area of human experience up from a cradle of poverty and 
the precincts of the almshouse to the post of honor and 
the home of plenty and independence ; and during his 
later years he has struggled with misfortune in a manner 
which should, and which without doubt will, win for him 
from the people of California an unusual sympathy and 
a most friendly and earnest good will, of which no one 
within the limits of this state we deem to be more 
eminently deserving than our pioneer friend. 

Frank M. Pixley. 



V 



t®OHIV] 



mil Besperanbum 

CT\ Y weary, toil-worn, murmuring friend, 
' * Let faith and hope with patience blend, 

And keep your colors flying. 
If grudging Fate small bounties send, 
And grov'ling life few pleasures lend, 

There's little use in sighing. 

While 'long life's thorny path you wend — 

(Oft rough, there's no denying) — 
No tears nor plaint will matters mend, 
Nor soothe nor smooth its rugged trend — 
Then where's the use in sighing ? 

If Fortune deals with sparing hands, 

Your meager wants supplying, 
If she sore toil and care demands, 
Nor yields one jot her stern commands, 

You nothing gain by sighing. 



32 

If sorrow lays her heavy hand 

And severs rude love's holiest bands, 

You gain no strength by crying. 
If wrecks bestrew life's stormy strand 
And grief shall hasten out its sands, 

You better nought by sighing. 

What e'er betides the battlefield, 
'Mong stealthy missiles flying, 
The soldier brave, his heart enshields 
In courage true — contests the field, 
And ne'er in timid weakness yields 
To soothe his wounds by sighing. 

But e'er the conflict firm renews, 

With colors proudly flying, 
Nor halts the backward path to view, 
But fights the battle bravely through, 
All dangers bold defying. 




33 

Ube aolfcen Bra 

ZTHEN the quick and youthful tread, 

Then erect the manly head, 
Then to hopes was fortune wed; 
Then with lithe and vigorous form, 
Heart high beating, ardent, warm, 
Youth laughed loud at wind and storm; 
With the wave or whirlwind vied; 
Like an elf o'er mountain hied, 
Or like Neptune braved the tide. 

Forty-nine and ninety-one ! 
Then the race of life begun; 
Hastens now declining sun, 
Soon to sink — life's journey run. 

Then was ours the boon to be 
Unrestrained, unfettered, free 
As the winds which swept the sea ! 

Forty-nine — now ninety-one ! 

What the prize ? Or lost ? Or won ? 

What the race so toilsome run ? 

Have we toiled that others sleep ? 
Have we sown that others reap ? 
Nay, how solved life's problem deep ? 

If for self, alone, we've wrought; 
Earthly joys thus vainly sought, 
Patient toiled yet toiled for naught, 



34 

Though expensive lessons taught, 
Though too costly all we've bought, 
Still some good yet life hath brought. 

God alone our time doth keep; 
'Neath his eye we laugh or weep; 
At his call we'll final sleep. 

Only this we earnest pray: 
God, oh ! grant us gleams of day, 
Tender guide our toilsome way, 
Cheer life's last still lingering ray. 

ZbxrikSQiviriQ 

I I ASLL is it for the land whose people yearly, 
Turn to the giver of all good with praise ; 
Chanting glad hymns that thank Him loudly, clearly, 
Rejoicing in the beauty of His ways. 

Great name that sums all lovingness, all power, 
We thank Thee, not for mercy, nor release, 

But for clear joy in sky and sea and flower, 
In Thy pure justice and Thy perfect peace. 

We live ; behind us the dark past ; before, 

A wide way full of light which Thou dost give ; 

More light, more strength, more joy and ever more — 
God of Day ! We thank Thee that we live ! 

Charlotte Perkins Stetson 



35 



Ubc XTrue Ueacber 

£\F kindly heart and genial smile, 

Which troubled hearts shall sooth, beguile; 
A soul deep touched by childhood's sigh, 
And moved to tears by weeping eye ; 
This is the teacher, good and true, 
Who lives in hearts life's journey through. 
Patient and loving, tender, kind, 
Just in reproof, and never blind; 
And constant as the speeding wind. 
For whom each morn shall toils renew, 
And every hour bring duties new, 
In all life's toilsome journey through. 
This is the teacher, faithful, true: 
While other hearts shall find repose, 
While other lids shall softly close, 
The teacher's lamp, though burning low, 
Shall still on sacred altar glow. 
Hither some day God's reapers come; 
Not bugle blast or beat of drum 
Shall then declare our journey run, 
But sweetly whispered words, " Well done ! " 



36 

3 /Ifeust Succeefc 

DE strong my soul ! I must succeed. 
Have I not little ones to heed, — 
Their little hungering mouths to feed? 
I must succeed ! 

Dear little hearts in the sunlight glad, 
Dear little bodies that must be clad, 
Shall they be shelterless yet, and sad? 
I must succeed ! 

Dear little ones ! Oh Love divine, 
That sees in pity me and mine, 
Send me strength from that strength of thine,- 
I will succeed ! 



^ryVrjTyryvrjtL. 



"Ibonor XTb^ jfatber" 

T^HERE rings a Voice from the ancient time, 

To every country, every clime, 
The voice of God's divine command ! 
The savage hears it, and the sage: 
To father, mother, and to age, 
All reverent homage pay ; 
Thus shalt thou dwell long in the land; 
Thus honored be thy day. 



37 

Uwilfobt. 

[ LOVE you, Twilight, love with love 
So loyal, loving, fond, that I 
When folding these worn hands to die 
Shall pray God bear me not above, 
But leave me, Twilight, silent, sad and true, 
To walk this lonesome shadow-world with you. 

Yea, God knows I have walked with night. 

I have not seen, I have not known 

Such light as beats upon His throne, 
And know I could not face His light. 
Therefore I beg, dusk bride of light and dew, 
To share your lonesome shadow-world with you. 

I love you, love you, Maid of Night — ; 

Your perfumed breath, your dreamful eyes, 

Your holy silences, your sighs 
Of mateless longing ; your delight 

When Night says, "Hang on yon bent new moon's horn 
Your russet gown and rest with me till morn." 

Joaquin Miller 




s 



38 

B^e ano JB^e 

DYE and bye, 

It is finished, it is done ! 

No more years, toilsome years, 

No more sorrow, no more tears, — 
It is finished, it is done, — Bye and bye. 

Bye and bye, 

It is finished, it is done ! 

While the shadows deeper grow, 

Sinks the sun, and sinking low, 
Beckons gently, it is finished, — Bye and bye. 

Bye and bye, 

It is finished, it is done ! 

Softly lies the head at rest, 

And upon the quiet breast 
Fold the hands, their work is done, — Bye and bye. 

Bye and bye ! 

Let us wait all trustingly 

For the mighty voice of One 

Who shall tell the earth and sea — 
It is finished ! it is done ! Bye and bye. 



•-C$rSJSi-<SfSJSi- 



tfovty*\\inc to 1Rinet^*one 

FORTY-NINE to ninety-one ! 
It was youth and rising sun; 
Now 'tis age; the day is done. 



39 

In the morning, hope was young, 
Wide were Argos wings outflung, 
Clear the voice of victory 
From the mountains to the sea; 
Now the stealing shadows come. 
They who sought, are turning home 
At the setting of the sun. 
Ah ! how swift the years have run, — 
Forty-nine to ninety-one ! 

Ube :JBab£ 

ANOTHER little wave 
/ Upon the sea of life ; 
Another soul to save 
Amid its toil and strife. 

Two more little feet 

To walk the dusty road ; 
To choose where two paths meet — 

The narrow or the broad. 

Two more little hands 

To work for good or ill ; 
The faith that God demands, 

To fail in, or fulfill. 

Another heart to name, 

To love for love again ; 

And so the baby came, 

A thing of joy and pain. 

We. Peddler 



40 

IReflcction 

1 1 1 HEN sorrows come with every year 

And the burden seems too great to bear, 
How soothing a reflection this: 
God's handiwork is ne'er amiss; 
We by his hand and will are here; 
Why doubt that hand; that will why fear ? 

A grain of sand in the boundless sea, 

A mote amid immensity, 

May sink to chambers dark and deep, 

And hidden there for ages sleep; 

Yet still secure, and never be 

One instant lost, God, to thee ! 



- or*^XX^XST*JD' 



Xelaito Stanforfc 

His house is golden, and the stretch of lands 
Lies out beyond the boundings of his sight ; 

The wealth of many kings is in his hands, 

And like a king he stands 
In money's might ; 

Yet he is but a common man, 

A good American. 

The years have been when he, with other men, 
Looked full into the face of Destiny, 

And saw an open road before ; and when 

Their faint hearts failed them, then 
Alone came he, 



41 

Fearless the pathway to contend, 
And triumph in the end. 

And in the triumph-time of gold and pride, 
The harvest-time of what his toil had won, 

High Heaven the greatness of his nature tried, 

Took from the father's side 
His only son, 

Leaving him what was powerless 

His whitened years to bless. 

Beneath the heavy Hand he raised his eyes, 

Full of calm faith in God's design, and said 
" What He has left to me I do not prize, 

Save that within it lies 
A power to aid 

The sons of other men to be 

The blessing kept from me." 



•ar-jc^arxjc 



proverbial Misbom 

THE wisdom of the proverbs lies 
In this one fact — which none denies — 
That, matters not what one may say, 
There's one to work the other way. 

John Kendrick Bang)? 

With the compliments of the Author, in the hope that the end sought 
may he attained. 

Tuckers, Nov. 6, 1892 



42 

3f Me Iknew 

\ J J E cannot know the depths of pain 
Life's way may lead us through ; 
We cannot see the sunny plain 

That God will guide us to ; 
The sultry, heated deserts, 

Or the valleys sweet with dew. 
How oft would sorrow's symbol 

Change to laughter if we knew 
The glorious and grand beyond, 

That waits us down the way. 
When from our chained and broken lives 

The mists have rolled away ; 
When through the tears that dim our eyes 

We view the '"' perfect day." 

Rose Hartwick Thorpe 

tsrsai--Tsr~jsi- 



fftom Sbasta's jprouMp TCowertno Crest 

'ROM Shasta's proudly towering crest 
To smiles of Southern clime, 
From yon Sierra's piney breast, 
To western sun's decline ; 



F 



Behold! Redeemed the youthful vow ! 
With bowing head and furrowed brow, 
Before this picture grateful bow ! 

A land from weary waste reclaimed ! 
Imperial state! By heaven ordained, — 
The fairest of the earth proclaimed. 



43 

Lo! where the listless toiling waves 

Rolled on in sudden roar, 
Fair Venus now all sportive laves, 

And hails the echoing shore. 
* * * * # * 

Shall he, the conquering hero, now 
With slackened pace and furrowed brow, 
Before hard fate in sorrow bow ? 
Shall he, who laid foundation stone, 
On which now rests imperial dome, 
Be left in years without a home ? 

Nay ! Nay ! Ne'er dawn that lurid day 
When life and faith and hope decay, 
Nor friendly hand his footsteps stay. 
Nay, man's too noble ! Do we fear ? 
Nay ! He has friends all genial, kind; 
To generous deeds not deaf or blind. 
'Mid brothers all he'll welcome find 
In heart and hearths — the pioneer. 



Sunoay /llborn 

'TIS Sunday morn ! 

\ Away the shadows of the night ! 
Let darksome phantoms fade from sight — v 
Dissolve before the golden light, 
This glorious Sunday morn. 



44 

'Tis Sunday morn ! 
The curtains of the night, withdrawn, 
Let in the heavenly beaming dawn, 
And peace and hope anew are born, 
This gladsome Sunday morn. 

'Tis Sunday morn ! 
Up from the mountains and the sea, 
In the voice of every flower and tree,. 
Sweet hymns arise, God, to Thee, 
This blessed Sunday morn. 

'Tis Sunday morn ! 
In this thy temple wide as earth, 
At the altar of each sacred hearth, 
Give us, dear Lord, the second birth, 
This holy Sunday morn ! 



'Of v JSi / c>f*^JS3' 



flDj? picture 



INO you want to see my picture, 

The one I love the best ? 
It comes when dying sunbeams 
Lead nature to her rest. 

The background to my picture 
Is a mountain towering high, 

Whose rugged peaks are softened 
In outline 'gainst the sky. 

The stars look brightly downward- 
I see them in the lake, 



45 

And of its silvery whiteness 
A magic mirror make. 

With giant limbs extending, 

Behold my noble trees. 
Their branches gently bending 

To softest perfume breeze. 

The flowers have closed their dainty cups 

And try to hide from sight, 
The moon-beams touch the tree-tops 

And paint them glistening white. 

Oh, Artist ! can'st thou paint me 

A scene like this of mine, 
Can'st make the dew-drops glisten, 

The silvery moon to shine ? 

Oh, paint me little flower-cups 

Whose perfume fills the air, 
Bedew their lovely petals, 

Display their beauty rare. 

The stars — my living diamonds — 
Those brilliant eyes of night — 

Can'st draw their shape, oh Artist ! ; 
Their colors, too — their light ? 

The brush divine that painted this 

Is not to mortals given — 
The colors and the master hand 

Are only found in Heaven. 

Grace Mahoney 



4G 

/n>\? ZlDotbcr's Cbair 

THE dear old basket-bottom chair ! 
Fashioned and framed out of oak wood strong f 
Where Mother sang me her cradle song, 
And taught me to pray the Savior's prayer. 
My thoughts steal back to the long ago, 
As I rock, half dreaming, to and fro, 
Alone with the dear old chair. 

Sunny and glad is youth, and fair 

The dreams that linger from boyhood days, 

And Mother's soft eyes seem to gaze 

Out of the shadow and stillness there. 

And Time creeps back for a moment then, 

And gives the joy of our youth again 

To me and the dear old chair. 

Shadow around us everywhere. 

And a fainting flame in the low fire-place ; 

The magic fairness of mother's face, 

The holiness of her eyes and hair. 

Oh, the song and the motion slow, 

The peace that vanished so long ago 

From me and the dear old chair. 

The shadows deepen and chill the air ; 
O my mother, the fire is low, 
The bed-time hour is come, I know ; 
Bend thy spirit to mine in prayer, 
Fold thy white soul over my own, 
Fly with me far, and leave alone 
In darkness, the dear old chair. 



47 

"Mo (Barncrefc Sbeavcs" 

'|V|0 garnered sheaves" — "the spirit grieves, " 
' That clay is done and night lias come, 

And o'er the earth her mantle flung; 
And yet no sheaves, no garnered sheaves. 

The heart is heavy, the spirit grieves, 
That life were spent 'mid thorns and tares, 
'Mid countless griefs, unnumbered snares, 

And yet — no sheaves, nothing but leaves, 

All worthless leaves. 

Alas, too late the spirit grieves, 

When night her shadows lengthens round, 
And we hear, alas, the mournful sound: 

"No garnered sheaves, nothing but leaves, 

Poor withered leaves ! " 

Too late indeed, the spirit grieves; 
When seasons come, and seasons go, 
The time to plant and the time to sow, 
Till the bare fields bury themselves in snow, 

And yet no sheaves — no garnered leaves. 

Oh God, we plead, our suppliance heed, 
Help us e'en now, to sow some seed; 
That not too late our spirit grieves, 
In garnering naught of golden sheaves, 
Nothing but tares, and worthless leaves. 



48 

Mbat Gben ? 

[ SIT in my narrow room alone, 

With my fliokering Lamp still burning, 
While the world outside, in its orbit wide, 
Forever is turning, turning. 

Ah, what am I, I sigh, 

As the world goes by, 
But a Lamp, now faintly burning; 

Of use, it is true, 

For a moment or two; 
But the light out-blown, 
And the spirit out-ilown, — 

What then ? 

Extinguished the flame, 

Forgotten the oame, — 

Tin 1 great world pauses never; 

1 f a billion were gone, 

As many were born, 
And the world sweeps on forever. 

Ah me ! what am 1, 
To live and die, 
One lonely bee 
In this swarming hive. 
Or a sand in the sea 
Of the dead and alive ? 



4!) 

While the world keeps turning, turning 

With its millions of men, 

Nor wonders " what then," 
When some weak lamp stops burning. 

We live and we die, 

While the world goes by, 
Too hurried to question the reason why, 

Or to Learn the cause 
Of the silence that eomes in the lives of men; 

But the world shall pause, 

And an infinite pen 
Answer forever, the cry, " What then ?" 



JTJli B I 



San Xut3 



LjERE, near the gentle, murmuring sea, 

) Where the waves disport and the winds, in glee, 

Toss high in the air the silvery spray, 

And the mountains stand in their mantles gray, 
Guarding the valley of gold and brown ; 
Here, in this quaintly quiet town, 

The man with the brave, true heart we find, 
The woman whose nature is warm and kind ; 
And 1 would that Heaven had granted me 



To live by the side of this quiet sea; 

In this dear old town, where the stranger meets 

None but friends in the sunny streets 



s 



50 

And a welcome face at each open door ; 

But ah ! not yet is my roaming o'er, 

I must wander on in my search for rest ; 

But I know that deep in my weary breast 
I shall keep forever the memory 
Of sweet San Luis near the sea. 

©ne ©nl£ 

5WEET maid, in whose being 
The virtues all meet, 
While the glad troop of graces 

Attend on thy feet ! 
Oh, that there might linger 

Upon thy fair brow 
The charm that would keep thee 
Forever as now ! 

Forever as winsome, 

Forever as true, 
Forever as pure as 

The morn's crystal dew ; 
Forever as merry 

Thy bosom's warm heat, 
Forever as stainless, 

Forever as sweet. 

But vain is my blessing, 

And idle my song, 
If God throw not round thee 

His arms stout and strong. 



51 

God never forsake thee 

Thro' life's checkered zone, 
But tenderly take thee, 

And make thee his own. 

Oscar V. Shuck 

Ube Gbain of Xlime 

1 j l HEN He, the Omniscient, fixed His throne, 

Ere beaming orbs o'er chaos shone, 
Ere suns had yet their circuits known, 

God forged the first of the chain of time. 

While yet creation's power did sleep, 

Ere stars were kindled their watch to keep, 

While darkness brooded upon the deep, 

He planned the rest of the chain of time. 

When light burst forth from the bounds of space, 
And nature smiled beneath His face, 
And each part knew, in the whole, its place, 
Link by link grew the chain of time. 

And every link in the mighty chain, 
Shines like a star or is dark with stain, 
As the year is worthy or spent in vain. 
Record eternal, the chain of time ! 

God, give us strength of heart and mind, 
To rid from rust the links that bind 
Our part to the rest, before and behind, 
In this thy jewel, the chain of time. 



52 

Xlbe 2>eaf Cbristian's Worlfc 

[ LIVE within a soundless world. I see 

Like phanton wraiths the crowds upon the street, 
I hear no laugh of child, no hum of bee, 
No rush of wheels, no tramp of busy feet. 

The storm's wild wrath may beat the forest tops, 
And hurl the heavy branches to the ground. 

No noise is there. Before my eyes they drop 

Like featherly floating snowflakes without sound. 

The mighty cataract may pour its flood 
In thunder down the steep. I feel a thrill 

Through all my being : But the deepest chord 
Of that grand harmony for me is still. 

Voiceless are all my friends, songless the birds, 
The waves beat soundless on the silent sands ; 

The summer zephyrs flit with noiseless wings. 
And touch my burning cheek with quiet hands. 

Yet in my soul I hear "a still small voice," 
That speaks with utterance distinct and free : 
" I've closed thy ears, my child, to earthly sounds 
That thou might'st ever talk alone with me." 

" May talk with thee ! " blessed, rapturous thought, 
That I with feet still resting on the sod 
Can in my soul hear heavenly harmonies 
And in my silence ever talk with God. 

Mary Wood-Allen 



53 

r\F all the blossoms sweet of earth, 

Whose perfumes lade the air, 
Give me the flowerets round my hearth, 
Which lend their fragrance there. 

Of all the beams of Heavenly host 

Which on in circles roll, 
Give me the stars which light the most, 

The chambers of my soul. 

jforwarfc 

I OOK forward, you who seek to be 
^ The guide of others on the way, 
Forward, not backward, hopelessly 

To past mistakes and time's decay. 
Dead issues are the food of fools, 

The future only, is your own, 
Leave speculation to the schools, 

Achievement comes of deed alone. 

Look out, not in ; life is too large 

To lodge within a single breast ; 
It is a sea whose outer marge 

No dreamer's foot has ever prest. 
The eager world can find no room 

For him who gropes within his soul 
To read the riddle of his doom, 

While others press to reach the goal. 

Look up, not down ; the cumbering clod 
Is for your footsteps, not your eyes ; 



54 

Your lips may meet the kiss of God 
Somewhere in his resplendent skies. 

To live is ever to aspire, 

The world is theirs who do and dare ; 

Look up and learn, as flames of fire 
Leap to the rupture of the air. 

Francis Howard Williams 

Mbo Xoves UMs ffellowWIDan 

DE not deceived, Oh rapturous soul ; 

In the course of Life's brief span, 
He comes most near the heavenly goal, 
Who loves his fellow- man. 

He who would fill his soul with joy, 

Feed it with heavenly food, 
His heart and hand should e'er employ 

In love and deeds of good. 

Not those who draw their garments round 

In dread lest the hem be soiled 
By lips that have bent and kissed the ground, 

And hands that have slaved and toiled ; 

Not those who timid close the door 

When hunger's voice is heard, 
Lest from the outer darkness, more 

Should utter the pleading word ; 

Not these, before the throne of God 
When stripped of this earth's disguise, 

Shall find a welcome of the Lord 
In the light of his smiling eyes ; 



55 

But they who have wrought with open hands, 

Shall hear when the race is run, 
The voice of him who waiting stands, 

" Servants of Love, well done ! " 

Brt's IRew gear's Gift 

On the discovery of the statue of Minerva, by Phidias— reported by telegram 
from Athens, New Year's Eve, 1886. 

H LIGHT-FLASH of the ancient world has fired the 
/ modern heart, 

And trumpet loud " Eureka! " rings thro' all the aisles of 
art ; 

Girt with its pristine majesty, long hid from eyes of man, 
A miracle of human skill, lo ! it is born again. 
The tide of twenty centuries has swept that classic land, 
Since first the mighty Greek unveiled this marvel of his 

hand. 
Embalmed beneath the wrecks of time, in earth which 

heroes trod, 
Where even pagan sages taught the living truth of God ! 
Defiant of the flood of years, it towers above the wave, 
And art exults as at her own revival from the grave. 
A far off era shall behold, for perish all things must, 
This trophy of a golden age crumble in precious dust. 
A more pathetic story then shall burst from mortal lips, 
Than that, which thro' the vanquished years told of its 

first eclipse. 
Oh, touch it light, remorseless Time, nor hurl it to the sod, 
Till men have learned the master's stroke, and follow 

where he trod. 

Oscar V. Shuck 



56 

HMgnarc, HJomfnc 

(From an ancient prayer.) 

PORD, for to-morrow and its needs, 

We do not pray — 
But keep us, dear Lord, from stain of sin 
Just for to-day. 

Let us both diligently work 

And duly pray ; 
Let us be kind in word and deed 

Just for to-day. 

Let us be heedful of Thy word, 

Prompt to obey ; 
Help us to mortify the flesh 

Just for today. 

Let us in season, Lord, be grave. 

In season gay ; 
Let us be faithful to thy grace 

Just for to-day. 

So for to-morrow and its needs 

We do not pray ; 
But guard us, guide us, keep us, Lord, 

Just for to-day. 

If torturing ills allict us sore 
And rack with ceaseless pain, 

God, thy mercy we implore, 
Our wasting strength sustain. 
Amen. 



57 

Ube polar Mav>e 

EVE, MIDNIGHT, MOKN 

5 TO 6 1*. M. 

' KJEATH twilight's sunless sky a wintry eve is born ; 
J At western sight, the ling'ring light 
On solar beam descends to crown the morrow's morn ; 

Bereft of ray, the dying day 
O'er solemn earth expires, the vital spark hath flown. 

The evening star declines afar, 
As night, in mantle dark, ascends her ebon throne. 

6 TO 7 F. M. 

'Tis night; her ray less form o'ershadows sea and land, 

Nor astral tint, nor lunar print 
Doth fringe her sable gown or grace her dusky hand, 

But mutt'rings loud from murky cloud 
Affect the nether air for miles and miles around ; 

'Tis winter's blast, 'tis snowing fast ; 
Above a tempest frowns o'er earth's denuded ground. 

7 TO 8 p. M. 

A wintry pall now spreads its folds o'er Nature's form, 
Naught doth illume the blinding gloom ; 

Down rolls an icy flood, hurl'd by the frigid storm ; 
With flinty hail, a driving gale 

Sweeps o'er the pallid earth, arresting young and old ; 
In frozen tears this night appears — 

The bursting clouds surcharged with concentrated cold. 



58 

I 10 P. M. 

The wave congealing Hows, swift is the curdling tide ; 
The falling snow doth deeper grow, 

And upward whirl the drifts, and clouds with clouds 

collide; 
O'er foaming skies the tempest. Hies, 
Fierce blow the frantic winds, wild fury marks their course; 
With glacial si rife the stonn is rife — 

Recoils the polar wave with unabating force. 

10 TO 11 P. M. 

Ablaze is all the land with dame ^\' frozen fire; 

A lurid glare ignites the air ; 
Dissolving fly the clouds, the winds expend their ire; 

Loom on the sight the realms of night, 
Where yawn devouring gulfs, where heights confronting 
stand ; 

To wintry form betakes the storm 
As hack the Arctic tide rolls to the polar strand. 

II TO 12 M. 

Tis now the midnight hour, 'tis near the noon of night ; 

And earth and sky attract the eye ; 
The stellar hosts are circling round the polar light ; 

Presides in sheen the midnight queen ; 
The earth's in ervstal rav, the heaven's in sparkling flame, 

Athwart the sky the meteors fly ; 
44 High noon ! high noon of night ! " the chanticleers pro- 
claim. 



59 

12 M. TO 3 A. M. 

Grave silence supervenes, 'tis post-meridian night ; 

The earth is keen, the skies serene ; 
Night doth her charms display, earth's clad in snowy 
white, 

And calm and grand are sea and land ; 
Tall drowsy heights appear, low slumb'ring depths abound; 

Not seen or heard is brute or bird, 
A solemn stillness reigns — 'tis solitude profound. 

:; TO <; a. m. 

The somber shades afar give birth to eerie sprite ; 

A weird fear holds eye and ear ; 
Faint echoes gain the air, grim phantoms skirr the night; 

Of stealthy mood, a spectral brood 
Glide from their dingy haunt, steal off and fade away ; 

And low and high the shadows fly 
As night in folding gown fiees from approaching day. 

f. TO 7 A. M. 

The prime decree is heard ; goes forth, " Let there be 

light ! " 
"The quick'ning dawn ! the breaking morn ! " 
Proclaims the herald star from off the wing of night ; 

Bursts o'er the earth the twilight's birth ; 
Nocturnal orbs have hid, night's denizens have flown ; 

With silv'ry gleam, on golden beam, 
Doth day in brumal robe ascend Aurora's throne. 

John J. Cbaven 



GO 

©nee a l^ear 

(From the Examiner, December 25, 1892.) 

f"\NCE a year, once a year, 

Hush the sigh and brush the tear, 
Christmas only once a year. 

Gather loved in gladsome mirth 
Round the homestead happy hearth ; 
Let now hopes have happy birth 
Once a year. 

Let the wassail cup go round, 
Harp and flute and lyre resound ; 
Health and love and peace abound 
Once a year. 

If we've wealth and garnered store, 
Plethoric purse and gold galore, 
Let libations generous pour, 
On the altars of the poor, 

Christmas comes but once a year. 

But if not with plenty blest, 
If not heart nor hand hath rest, 
Let's partake our crust with zest, 
Happy Christmas once a year. 

Once a year, once a year, 
Away, away the sigh and tear, 
Banished phantom, doubt and fear, 
Welcome gladsome, heavenly cheer. 
Merry Christmas once a year. 



61 

Now, Lord, in grateful chime, 
Would we praise Thy love divine ; 
Now, in worship, Lord, of Thee, 
Lift our hearts and bend our knee ; 
Blessed Christmas, heavenly cheer, 
Joyful Christmas once a year. 

1bope 

LjOPE ! Ah yes, 'tis a beauteous thing — 
/ Like the flossy tints of a fairy's wing ; 
A beautiful, joyous, blissful thing. 

Fresh as the dew at the blush of the morn 
When the shadows uplift, and away are gone, 
And the stars fade out, and a day is born. 

Sweet as the breath of the new mown hay ; 
But like flower and the fruit of May, sweet May, 
Or the bloom of the cheek, it passeth away. 

Hope, ah hope ! Swift bird, and so fair ! 

All blind mid her halo to the scene of despair, 

Triumphant she flits through realms of air. 

Hope ! 'Tis the spring, with its flower-decked down, 
(Like a maid mid her smiles unclouded by frown ; ) 
But relentless comes autumn, sere, sombre, and brown. 

Yet, still on thy bosom, unconsciously blest, / 

On thy bosom warm beating, with thy tender caress, 

I will await till my Sun shall go down in the west. 



62 

Science ant) IRelioion 

HT first in fear, then anger, then surprise 

' We gazed on Science, when out from the night 
Of Superstition shot the daring light 

Of her bold torch across the darkened skies. 

Some hateful fiend, we deemed her in disguise — 
A foe to all things dearest in our sight : 
This austere figure clad in coldest white, 

The whole face shrouded, save the brow and eyes. 

To sneer and taunt, to brutal blow and thrust 
She made no answer, passing on her way, 
A purpose in her eyes that seemed divine. 

And now she drops her mantle in the dust, 
And standing radiant in the breaking day, 
Behold Religion, beautiful, benign ! 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox 



or tt V- JT 



XT be Uraoefcv 

f\H, the fret of the brain, 

And the wounds and the worry ; 
Oh, the thought of love and the thought of death- 
And the soul in its silent hurry. 

But the stars break above, 

And the fields flower under ; 
And the tragical life of man goes on, 

Surrounded by beauty and wonder. 

Chakles Edwin Mahkham 



63 

Xines to 3. <L pelton 

|DE thou content 

To let the added years 

That come to thee, 
Roll back into the past so far, 

That memory 
Can only find along the shore 
Some perfect flowers, 

And nothing more. 

Be thou content. 

For age upon thy heart 

Can never creep ; 
And when, at last, in stillest night 

Thou seem'st to sleep, 
A birthday then will come to thee 

In truth ; 
The gift it brings, 

Immortal youth. 

Nellie Blessing Eystek 



'>.' --* or 3t 



flfop Sun 



fX\ Y life was darkened as by night, , 

' y Until thou cam'st, my Sun. 

The stars then faded in the blue, 

The sky was flushed with rosy hue, 

The flower-cups drank the dew-gemmed light. 

The rills laughed in their sportive flight, 



64 

The birds sang out a matin sweet ; 
My world did homage at thy feet, 
When glad thou cam'st, my Sun. 

Again comes on the cheerless night, 

Since thou art gone, my Sun. 
The flush is fading in the west, 
The evening brings a vague unrest ; 
Earth is in sombre shadows dight, 
Hope's star shines with a borrowed light ; 
All Nature, in the zephyrs sigh, 
Grieves forth a minor minstrelsy, 
Since thou art gone, my Sun. 

And must there be an endless night, 

Wilt ne'er return, my Sun ? 
Must ne'er the morn in changing hue 
Blush with its waking thought of you ? 
Must bird, like saddened anchorite, 
Brood in the crescent's meagre light ? 
Must rills their merry musicale, 
Hush in the shadows of the vale, 
The flower ne'er with thy passage move ? 
All lose their source of light and love, 
Till thou return, my Sun. 

\V. D. Townsend 




65 

TCbe Star of Ibope 

'TIS now the deepening twilight hour ; 
\ Lo ! in the Eastern sky, afar, 
In smiling beam and twinkling bar, 
Up glides my hope, my guiding star. 

'Tis now the silent midnight hour ; 
Lo ! 'mid the starry vaults above 
There gently beams my star in love ; 
As noiseless as the speeding dove, 

Across the fields of broad blue sky, 

On unseen wing as swift doth fly ; 

And while we trace with hopeful eye, 
Swift through the mists, beneath the dun, 
Her journey safe thus far hath run. 

And now doth gleam the morning hour ; 
Low, now, 'mid halos in the West, 
Our star sinks down 'neath billows' crest ; 
In sweet repose she sinks to rest. 

Again, 'mid golden blush of morn, 

Another day in joy is born. 
Let bells now ring in merry chime, 
Let minor chords harmonious rhyme, 
And tell how sweet is love divine, 

For 'bove the mists, above the haze, 
'Bove beaming skies, 'yond spheres ablaze, 

List, now, angelic joyous lays. ^ 
And thus in love they point the way 
Where night no more shall hide the day. 



66 

IMvcrols 

DEYOND the sea, I know not where, 
There is a town called Vivorols ; 
I know not if 'tis near or far, 
I know not what its features are, 
I only know 'tis Vivorols. 

I know not if its ancient walls 
By vine and moss be overgrown ; 
I know not if the night-owl calls 
From feudal battlements of stone 
Inhabited by him alone ; 

I know not if mid meadow-lands 
Knee-deep in corn stands Vivorols ; 
I know not if prosperity 
Has robbed its life of poesy. 
It could not be in Vivorols, 
They would not call it Vivorols. 

Perchance upon its terraced heights 
The grapes grow purple in the sun ; 
Or down its wild untrodden crags, 
Its broken cliffs and frost-bit jags, 
The mountain brooks unfettered run. 

I cannot fancy Vivorols 
A place of gaudy pomp and show, 
A " Grand Ktablissement des Eaux", 
Where to win back their withered lives 
The roues of the city go. 



67 

Nor yet a place where poverty 
No ray of happiness lets in ; 
Where wanders hopeless beggary 
Mid scenes of sorrow, want and sin. 
It cannot be in Viverols, 
There's life and cheer in Viverols ! 

Perhaps among the clouds it lies 
Mid vapors out from Dreamland blown ; 
Built up from vague remembrances 
That never yet had form in stone 
Its castles built of cloud alone. 

I only know, should you and I 
Through its old walls of crumbling stone 
With moss and ivy overgrown 
Together wander all alone, 

No spot on earth could be more fair 
Than ivy-covered Viverols ; 
No grass be greener anywhere 
No bluer sky, nor softer air 
Than we should find in Viverols, 
Together find in Viverols. 

Love, we may wander far or near, 
The sun shines bright o'er Viverols, 
Green is the grass, the skies are clear : 
No clouds obscure our pathway, dear, 
Where Love is there is Viverols, ^ 
There is no other Viverols. 

David Starr Jordan 



68 

©ur ©uiMna Star 

Invocation 

INUTY and right the beacon star, 

O'er hidden rock or treacherous bar, 
Shall guide the wanderer from afar — 
To port divine. 

God clear the mists, 0, give us eyes, 
To pierce the clouds of tears and sighs 
And see a light beyond the skies, 
By light divine. 

0, God, our Maker, are we Thine ? 
0, guide us then by beams benign 
Where suns eternal shine. 

Safe, safe, o'er ocean's heaving breast, 
Safe o'er the rolling billows crest, 
To haven of peace, of rest. 

Governor /Ifearfebam 

I JJHEN God— the Almighty Fatherhood 

Amid the uncreated stood ; 
E'er yet omniscient thought we stayed 
Or yet supremest power displayed, 
Lo, man up from the chaos rose, 
All meet creation's scheme to close : 
Of all God's wisdom most sublime 
Of his work the chief, divine — 
An honest man. 



69 

Without conceit or vain display, 
The useful honest man of clay. 
And as time's eras onward roll 
The name high writ or honored scroll 
• Is : " The humble, modest, useful man." 
Whom fortune blest, is still but man ; 
Whom fates accurst, is yet a man ; 
An actor on life's dramatic stage, 
Or but a simple, willing page — 
The same, and still a man. 
'Tis thus our friend ; indeed a man, 
On slippery heights of fame he stands, 
Secure ; the same amid life's common sands. 
Lo, there's a man. 

©ur Dear ©lt> " Uurfc " 

THOUGH bold as a lion, 
As a lamb he was mild ; 
As " knowing " as a human, 
As sportive as a child. 

When at early morn, starts the world on its rounds, 
Then his uptilted ear catcheth earliest sounds — 
Then he gallops and gambols and tumbles about, 
With his yelping and barking, like a child doth he shout. 

From his master, he not for a moment would stray, 
Though he roam the world over, or by night or by day, 
Walk or ride, far and wide, at my side. 



70 

Sticking closer than brother ; 

This ever I know 
My dog's in my shadow, 

Where ever I go. 

Aye, wonderful dog ; he can look in your eye ! 
Like a parrot can laugh, can chatter and cry ; 
And his efforts at talking by no means are vain, 
For with looking and acting his meaning is plain. 

The dear old dog, with his big loving heart — 

Half human, indeed, was his canine face ; 

And when he takes leave — for Dog's heaven departs, 

'Twill be hard then to match him with aught of his race. 

And our old pet Turk is of bloodhound breed ; 
Stout body, short legs, long ears, broad face, 
But of this poor description one scarcely hath need, 
For his form and his features are types of his race. 

Dear old Turk- 
Obedient and faithful, so loving and true ; 
A dog, yes. 'tis true, in God's wiser plan, 
But look well o'er nature all carefully through, 
Then say which were wiser, the dog or the man. 

Beolia 

(Auburn, California) 

'/T\ID tree clad mount, and glen and dell, 
' 1 Home fit for Muse or Gods to dwell ; 
Some other gifted tongue shall tell, 
Aeolia. 



71 

Abler by far than pen of mine 

The charms and beauties which are thine 

Real, ethereal, and sublime 
Aeolia. 

'Mid tree-flecked glade and leafy bower, 
'Mid vine-clad hills and trailing flower, 
Here sunbeams chase the fleeting hour, 
Aeolia. 

Swift from Sierra's robes of snow, 
For ages which but God's may know, 
The streamlets bathe thy depths below, 
Aeolia. 

Lo ! from thy beauteous verdant crest 
The wondering eye may scarce find rest ; 
For hence from East to glowing West, 
Aeolia, 

Lo ! mount on mount, hill, dell and glade, 
Creative hand unique displayed 
In endless chain till visions fade, 
Aeolia. 

Ah fortune blessed ! without a tear, 
Without a frown, without a fear, 
Content 'mid bounties linger here — 
Aeolia. 

Aye, sit beneath thy fig and vine 
Where palm and pine their branches twine, 
With prudence feast on oil and wine ; 
But ne'er forget the Power Divine, 
Aeolia, 



72 

Beneath whose smile we're fed and blest 
(As children on the mother's breast), 
Beneath whose eye we final rest, 
Aeolia. 

Waft, waft ye wind from o'er the sea. 
Come zephers sweet from o'er the lea, 
Come smiling through each vine and tree, 
The lute and harp here waits for thee — 
Aeolia. 

While evening sunsets still shall glow 
Here weary lids may peaceful close ; 
Here mind and heart find sweet repose 
Till brighter realms of heaven disclose, 
Aeolia. 



-tsrvjc/ar^s*' 



Beautiful San SHeao 

5 AN DIEGO, beautiful town ! 
Emerald-gemmed mid gold and brown, 
Myriad smiles, and never a frown — 
Beautiful town. 

Restful, healthful, graceful, fair ; 
Gem in setting rich and rare, 
Who thy beauties fit declare, 
Saintly town. 

Throned secure mid hill and plain, 
Waving kiss to mount and main ! 
Pride excused, indeed, if vain — 
Charming town ; 



73 

Vain of loveliest, matchless charms, 
Vain of peace, mid earth's alarms, 
Vain in wealth's caressing arms — 
Boastful town ; 

Fanned by softest, balmy breeze, 
Laved by wave of placid seas, 
Bowered 'neath clambering vine and trees, 
Eden town ; 

Flowering glen and fruitful dell, 
Verdant glade, and vine all tell 
Where the heart content may dwell, 
Vine-clad town. 

Bathed in smiles 'neath glowing sky, 
Heard not here the moan and sigh, 
Seldom seen the tearful eye, 
Smiling town. 

Goddess robed in Southern West, 
Favored chieftest 'mong the blest, 
Wear secure the victor's crest, 
Genial town ; 

Awaiting but the nod of time, 
When shall the voice of every clime, 
Both pen and tongue in praise of thee 
Shall all thy matchless glories chime — 
Blissful town ! 

Home for gods or men to please ! 
Waft thy songs, willing breeze, 
Loud and long o'er land and seas, 
Bless'd town. 



74 
0O£> fl>tt£ /IDC 

(A. RONDEAU) 

/** ' OD pity rne. Aye, He who hears, 
^ And ope my gloomy deafened ears. 
And hush, 0, hush, the horrid chime 
Within this throbbing brain of mine, 
Which hence re-echoes through the spheres, 
(Not in those notes whose music cheers, 
But such as fill my eyes with tears.) 
heavens, this dread discordant rhyme, 
God pity me ! 

Shall life be only doubt and fear ? 
And hope await the somber bier ? 
O heavens and earth, in love sublime ! 
Bring me some healing balm divine, 
To heal or soothe this horrid chime 
Within these deafened ears of mine. 
God pity ! 

©n a TRecent H>eatb at Goronafco 

POOR friendless girl ! Scarce more is known ! 
From stricken heart all joys had flown. 
Up from the cold embracing wave 
They bear her hence to stranger's grave. 

No music soft, yet grief and sigh, 
And many a moistened pitying eye 
Salute the corse, as passing by. 



75 

And o'er her cold and pallid clay 

The sunbeams through the flowerets play. 

Poor lonely child, bear her away, 

" Dust unto dust " in swift decay. 

" God pity " is the Christian breath 

To voice the pangs of saddest death ; 

God pity, aye, and he alone 

Shall bring the friendless round his throne. 

Aye, He, who sees the sparrow fall 
Can pierce beyond the bier and pall ; 
'Tis He, alone, our sins forgive 
And bid the dying still to live. 

December 14, 1892. 



'orsjc^ar^je* 



©n an ©l& TRoafc 

n host of poppies, a flight of swallows ; 
' A flurry of rain, and a wind that follows 
Shepherds the leaves in the sheltered hollows, 
For the forest is shaken and thinned. 

Over my head are the firs for rafter ; 
The crows blow south, and my heart goes after ; — 
A flight thro' the forest, a ripple of laughter ! 
Is it Aidenn or mystical Ind ? 

Oh, the whirl of the fields in the windy weather ! 
How the barley breaks and blows together ! 
Oh, glad is the free bird afloat on the hea+her — 
Oh, the whole world is glad of the wind ! 

Ciias Edwin Markham 



c 



76 

EartlVs /ID^dafc (Ibtmcs 

OD doth of finite things make choice,- 



()f worlds through boundless realms of space 
Each in its own celestial race, 
To whisper forth the Eternal voice. 

The winds low sigh o'er dell and lea, 
The mountain rill, the rippling rhyme 
Through glade and glen ; the merry chime 
O'er landscape wide or boundless sea, 
Whisper, God, of love to Thee. 

The waving grass, the nodding pine, 
The emerald glebe, the rustling corn, 
The blushing rose, the wayside thorn, 
Each humble floweret, herb or vine, 
Forever whisper, Love Divine. 

When ocean waves, low rumbling roll, 
Or billows rise and loud outpour 
Along resounding voicing shore, 
They whisper still of distant goal — 
Of heavenly rest for longing soul. 

So myriad notes of land and sea, 
The song of bird, the hum of bee, 
The gurgling brook, the bubbling rill, 
The rumbling rhyme of rustic mill — 
The countless chimes of earth and air, 
The glory of the heaven declare, 
That Power which rules enthroned above, 
And sweetly whisper, God is Love. 



77 

"Sometime" 

QHALL we complain — Sometime ? 

Alas ! how weak — 'tis more than vain, 
While Fate unwinds her mystic chain, 
That mortals chant some sad refrain. 

And shall we weep — Sometime 
When Fates their angry vigils keep ? 
'Tis better far content we sleep, 
When storms are raging o'er the deep. 

And shall we sigh — Sometime ? 
When Fate o'erclouds our beaming sky 
Shall we bewail ? With tearful eye 
Ask of the stars the reason why — 

The reason why, 

Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we sigh ? 
We may not ask, or seek reply; 
The answer's present ever nigh : 
This life's a tear, a laugh, a sigh — 
Sometime. 

Then cheer, O weary, faltering soul ! 
A Power benign the Fates control ; 
Though waves of sorrow o'er us roll, 
Sometime — 

As billows sweep the ocean's breast, 
Sometime upon their troubled crest 
We'll heavenward rise to peace — to rest — 
Sometime. 



So then : 

The happy man, indeed is he, 
Who present good most seeks to see, 
Nor vainly scans life's stormy sea 
To learn what future ills may be — 
Sometime. 



»r JD St JS i 



Consoling ZTfoonQbts 

7THAT when through life we've ceaseless fought 

Battles unnumbered, yet for naught, 
We still have fought with honest thought. 

Though, in life's combats, sore, we fall, 

We ne'er were deaf to duty's call, 

Nor weakly sought death's sheltering pall. 

That though through life we blindly grope 
Our way amid despair and hope, 
Some day, dear God, some day, shall ope 
The beaming portals wide, of Hope. 

Though soon in dust we find repose, 
'Tis but repose — ah sweet repose ! 
We only briefly eyelids close. 

While Time's unending eras roll 
All flesh decays ; but waking soul 
Hence onward seeks more fitting goal. 

Aye, hence unfettered by its clay, 
Nor life nor death its flights shall stay, 
It soars eternal on its way. 



79 

XToo Soon, Beloveo Son 

To the mother of the late C. H. Spurgcon: killed by collision of cart near Berkeley in '92;- 
a student of Berkeley University, 

1 1 IE bow, we bow, this darkened hour, 

And dew with tears our blighted flower, 

Fallen so soon ! 
While Heaven doth claim its earthly dower, 
We'll o'er his grave love's incense pour, 

Alas, dear God, so soon, so soon ! 
Aye, hope and promise of an hour ! 

The blush hath faded from his cheek, 
His crimsoned lips no more may speak, 
His light's out-blown ! His spirit seeks 

In this dread hour, its home, sweet home ! 

Mysterious power ! 

Ere scarce had dawned his manhood day 
Ere flesh beloved seeks swift decay, 
And flits in joy his soul away, — 
So soon away ! 

Thus early hopes like lilies fade, 
Nor may the will of Heaven be stayed 
Till nature's debt alas, be paid — 
But yet how soon, how soon ! 

Alas, parental bleeding heart, 
Pierced through and through with cruel dart, 
So soon, too soon ! 

Alas, thy wounds, anguished soul ! ^ 
In Heaven go find thy healing goal. 
Ah then how soon, 



80 

Indeed, how soon ! for life is brief ; 
And bitter though your pangs of grief, 
Ah, soon the boon, Heaven brings relief, 
Indeed, how soon ! 

E'en now doth sink life's earthly sun ; 
Its burthened journey soon were done ; 
And yonder waits thy loving son 
To meet and greet thee soon — so soon ! 

He whispers now, "I'm with thee still" ; 
Faith answers, "Yes, 'tis Heavenly will" ; 
And love responds, thy heart to fill, 
From bosom of beloved son, 
" I'm with thee still, in thought, and soon 
Thy spirit dwells with me at home." 

/n>£ fl&otber 

rr\y mother ! How tender, sweet, how dear ! 
\ y Enchanting word of wondrous power ! 
Mid morning's beams, or noontide clear, 

Or in the twilight stilly hour, 
How sweet those blessed accents are, — "My mother." 

loving, tender, sacred word ! 

What sweeter echoes touch the ear ? 
And when this word were reverent heard ! 

What mystic spell, what charm is there, — " My mother." 

And, O, that face, as seraph's fair ; 

Uplit by genial, loving smile ; 
In every trace that love so rare, 

My darkest hours of life beguile, — " Sweet mother." 



81 

And from those lips in gentle chimes 

Flow childhood's sweet, pathetic rhymes, 

In echoes soft, as from the shrine 

Where angels reverent kneel, divine, — "Ah mother." 

And, 0, that holy prayer of thine, 

Low whispered from angelic lips ; 
With what compare those tones of thine ! 

They're such as only spirits lisp 
In worship round the throne divine. 

loving, tender, mother's heart ! 
As violet sweet, like lilies pure ; 

The deepest wounds of fated dart 
Alone thy sacred memories cure. 

Beneath those eyes I reverent kneel, — 

Within those soft encircling arms ; 
And in thy holy presence feel 

Secure from life's invading harms. 

When suns decline in glowing west, 

And sink beneath the shimmering sea, 
I drop my tears upon my breast : 

And pray God lead me hence to thee, — " Dear mother." 

0, grant, dear God, on her dear breast 

In " Better Land" my head shall rest. 
Ah then ! indeed, with angels blessed 

I'll dwell in peace 'yond troubled sea — 
In her sweet presence, and with Thee. 



82 

Ube pebble 

THE pebble let fall in the ocean swell, 
And the circling wavelet quick shall tell 
The fate of the pebble, the place where it fell. 

But the ripple soon fades from the billowy breast, 
While the stone or a gem no hand shall arrest 
Till it lies 'neath the sea forever at rest. 

Nay, millions on millions by the finger divine 
Mid the whirl and the swirl of the billowy chime — 
Are dropped 'neath the waves of the ocean of time. 

Thus onward, still onward, the infinite scroll, 

While the winds and the waves their dirges shall toll 

O'er the billions, who journey, for the unknown goal ; 

O'er the billions and billions which have dropped 'neath 

the wave 
'Neath the ocean of time found the unnumbered grave, 
Whose record but the Infinite finger shall save. 

Thus the unheeding curtains of ages shall fall. 

For the king and his valet, for the great and the small 

The smile and the tear, the bier and the pall. 

Thus the shadows o'er the tomb forever shall lie 
And forever the tear and the frown and the sigh 
'Neath the darkened or the lightened, still the unheeding 
sky. 

Till the finger of time shall ruthless erase 

Both the name and the fame, which so fondly we trace — 

Aye, from bronze and from marble the record efface. 



83 

0, the folly then of pride of our ignoble clay, 
Whose life and whose toys the things of a day, 
Shall rest with the dust — in a day shall decay ; 

When lo, childish man — a toy of the dust 
Shall away all sense and his reason out thrust 
And shall strut in his pride, in his folly and lust. 

E'en God His creation shall desire to efface, 

Turn with blushes aside ; aye aside tarn His face 

All confounded at the burlesque of His poor human race. 

3Bunfter 1bill 

1776 

J 0, Bunker's Hill, enwreathed in flame ! 
^ List cannon's deafening roar ! 
While liberty now rends her chains, 
Aloft her eagles soar ! 

Let sulphurous clouds drift o'er the plain 

In darksome, lurid dun ; 
But when the smoke shall clear again, 

Lo, freedom's battle won. 

From Concord's field with scarlet stain 

And Charleston's bloody shore, 
Doth thunder roll o'er land and main, 

And leaden hail doth pour. 

But palm with pine now branches twine, 

O'er freedom's home embrace ; 
Where liberty shall rest enshrined, 

Nor time shall pale her face. 



84 

Roll, roll, ye knell of fated war 

O'er land and stormy deep, 
For, lo ! Columbia's beaming star 

Her peaceful vigils keep. 

Lo ! Yorktown's lists, uncovered stands, 
While Mars doth whisper : " Peace ; 

These are Columbia's chosen lands, 
Where tyrant's rule must cease." 

From north to south, from east to west, 
Lo ! liberty with outstretched hand, 

Her wand o'er lands with freedom blest — 
And " peace " is her command. 

A fiction ? Nay, at her behest 

We hail : "God bless our native land ! " 

"Ibaste" 

n S down the ringing groves of time 
/ The world is speedy hurried, 
What words are there on banner furled 
And in confusion buried ? 

'Tis surely, " Haste makes waste." 

Yet, onward still the rushing world 

Flies down its giddy way ; 
Within its circuit hasty whirled, 

Still faster on each day. 

Yet, surely, " Haste makes waste." 



85 

In all our busy world around 

But few find time for prayer ; 
Scarce one in all the host is found, 

Who has a thought to spare ; 

Yet haste, full, well we know, makes waste. 

Mayhap, some day, like flying wheel 

Still faster, faster whirled : 
Eccentric force shall rend the steel, 

Then forth are fragments hurled ; 

Thus surely haste hath oft made waste. 

Amid this whirl and swirl called life, 

We often pause and query why — 
Why all this anxious haste and strife ? 

The answer surely is a sigh. 

For, well, ah well, indeed, we know 
That all life's reckless rush and haste, 

From youth to aging head of snow, 
Of mind and heart makes cruel waste. 

Since dawned creation's natal morn, 
And God His work surveyed and blest, 

Man not alone to toil was born, 

But hath due time for peace and rest. 

Thus here for purpose wise we're placed, 
With time to eat and time to sl^ep, 

A time for God, a time for rest, 
A time for toil, but none for waste. 



Uhc poet 

jrvTS home is in the heights : to him 
/ Men wage a battle weird and dim, 
Life is a mission stern as fate, 
And Song a dread apostelate. 
The toils of prophecy are his, 
To hail the coming centuries — 
To ease the steps and lift the load 
Of souls that falter on the road. 
The perilous music that he hears 
Falls from the vortice of the spheres. 

He presses on before the race, 
And sings out of a silent place. 
Like faint notes of a forest bird 
On heights afar that voice is heard ; 
And the dim path he breaks to-day- 
Will some time be a trodden way. 
But when the race comes toiling on 
That voice of wonder will be gone — 
Be heard on higher peaks afar, 
Moved upward with the morning star. 

men of earth, that wandering voice 
Still goes the upward way : rejoice ! 

Charles Edwin Markham 




87 

(Bofc 

/■* IVE us a God ! a real, living God. 
^ In state, or realm of heart, or hearth or home, 
We'd build and worship at His holy throne ; 

And lest we feel His swift and chastening rod, 
And blasted fall beneath relentless sod, 

Let this august eternal truth be known : 
There's more of life beyond the veiled tomb ; 

'Tis only flesh that mingles with the sod. 
From earth to hades, thence from sun to sun 

Throughout the starry realms of boundless space, 
We journey — through the universes run. 

Nor till complete our hence ethereal race 
Shall we behold our God, the almighty one, 

And stand enwrapt before his beaming face. 

Uo /IDs Dear Mite 

riSa rill from the gurgling fountain 

' Speeds back to the breast of the sea ; 

And as swift as a bird from the mountain 

Returns to her nest from the lea ; 
So my heart all warm in its bounty 

Hies homeward, dear M., unto thee. 

Other skies, indeed, may be beaming, 
Other landscapes be verdant and fair ; 

Other climes in God's bounties be teeming, 
His love universal declare ; ^ 

But mine own hath a kindlier gleaming ; 
With its beauty, nay, none can compare. 



88 

Other hearts may be kindly and tender, 
Other lips may be pressed unto mine, 

Other arms so softly and slender. 

May seek round mine own to entwine ; 

But alas, I'm in dread of pretender, 
While I know that thy love is divine. 

Ah, yes, as I write, do I ponder, 

And I know that thy thought, 'tis with me ; 
And whithersoever I wander, 

Though I fly to the isles of the sea, 
DoSthe ties round my heart cling stronger 

Which bind me to home and to thee. 



IS^S^tS^JSX- 



Uo an Hutbor 

With Request for n Poem 

1 COME, not as a suppliant comes 

Before his haughty lord, 
With cautious step, as if to shun 
A dread uplifted sword. 

Nor yet in anxious doubt and fear 
I reach my trembling hand ; 

Nor yet forsooth, with rising tear 
I wait some dread command. 

But, rather as a friend draws near 
To one nor deaf nor blind, 

Do I, indeed, somewhat with cheer 
Approach one genial, kind. 



S9 

And not for self I earnest plead 

And seek thine helping hand : 
For other hearts mine own doth bleed ; 

In their dear stead I stand, 

And ask a sonnet from thy pen, 
Of magic power as well I ken — 

As all the world doth know — 
Exotic gem, a beauteous flower, 

Transplanted to our distant bower, 
Shall here e'en brighter glow. 

XTbe fallen Xeat 

[ SAW before me, 'mid my path one day, 
Driven by the winds along, a fallen leaf ; 

I pitied, as I'm wont, this emblem fit of grief ; 
Then fancied that I heard it sigh and say : 
Lo, this is doom ; to wither, fall, decay. 

But 0, that some benignant power, though brief. 

Would bring restoring cordial, sweet reprieve, 
Some healing balm, the touch of Time to stay. 
But, nay ; I once had beauty, verdance rare, 

And youthful fragrance ; all, indeed, was sweet ; 
And all my springtime hues were wondrous fair, 

My summer shadings all, forsooth, were meet ; 
In autumn still could maiden charms declare ; 

In age I wither ; 'tis nature's plan complete. 



90 

flfcS Xittle Cot 

I love my little humble roof, 

A lovelier realm unknown ; 
Affections here spin warp and woof, — 
That sacred place is home. 

Within its lowly rustic walls, 

Are pictures sweeter far 
Than those which hang in princely halls 

In storied realms afar. 

I love that true and faithful heart 
Which ever throbs with mine ; 

In weal or ill it beareth part, 
At love's e'er holy shrine. 

I love those little pattering feet 
Which haste to meet mine own ; 

I love those little hearts which beat 
A loving welcome home. 

God bless those little sparkling eyes 
Which speak in tones of love, 

Which tell of worlds beyond the skies 
Whence come these heavenly doves ! 

God bless the dimpled cheek and chin, 

And little chubby hand, 
Which point where withering breath of sin 

Ne'er blights — in " Better land." 

Those flaxen curls in merry whirl, 

In happ} r glee go round, 
They romp and glide, fantastic swirl 

To rhymes of rhythmic sound. 



91 

I love them each, I love them all, 

Which circle round my hearth 
At eventide, when curtains fall 

And hush sweet songs of mirth. 

I love to list when prayers are said, 

When eyelids sweetly close ; 
I gaze in love when little heads 

On pillows softly pose. 

Ah yes, I love my little cot ; 

Content within its walls, 
I would not change my earthly lot 

For wealth's pretentious halls. 

Wbat Hm 3? 

HM I God's child ? His faithful, dutious son ? 
/ Ah me, that I were truly His, indeed, 

In heart, in life ; His word so quick to heed, 
That when declined each day's diurnal sun, 
I'd know its duties each and all were done. 

I would that I some hungering soul might feed, 

Some wayward steps within his fold might lead ; 
While life's brief journey here I hurried run, 
I would not live and love but self alone, 

In pomp or pride, all selfish wrap me round ; 
Nor would I be an idle, useless drone, 

And dwell indifferent to all earth around,- 
Nay, nay, by dutious deeds I'd reach that throne 

Where only good and pure in heart are found. 



92 



"Sis Mell 

DEYOND the leaden mists and dun, 
Beyond the 'pyrean skies of blue, 
Lo, golden beams break barriers through 
And tell where reigns a cloudless sun. 

Out from the darksome, shadowy past 
Of memory's sad, grief-laden years, 
O'er-burdened oft with sorrow's tears, 

How sweet some sunbeams, which were grasped. 

Along a rugged landscape lay 

The path, which most our feet have pressed, 
And yet, adown from ragged crest 

Some golden beams have found our way ! 

And now from mid life's ebb and flow, 
From out the angry billow's roll, 
Come whispers sweet from soul to soul, 

Which tell how dear the long ago ! 

Amid discordant chimes of time 
Full many a minor note is found, 
But in life's grand, orchestral round 

These aid the symphony sublime. 

So mid life's weird, mysterious spell, 
Where much seems ill, so much amiss, 
A consolation sweet were this ! 
God knoweth all, and he doth tell : 
Who doeth right with Him, " 'tis well." 



93 

Xlfe Scene 

J GAZE in wonder on the crowding street 
And query what the countless errants are, 

What anxious quest, what ever burdening care, 
Doth urge the ever onward speeding feet, 
Hasteningv'mid tumult, noisy strife and heat ! 

Is this some dream — some mirage bright and fair ! 

Or phantom rueful, of some dire despair ! 
Ah me, reflection here, indeed, is meet : 
What were the purpose of this earthly life — 

These tears and toils which most its hours employ? 
Is this all meanless, ceaseless, useless strife, 

Which only flesh and heart and soul destroy ? 
Unending griefs and sorrows ever rife ? 

Who guide us then toward heaven and holier joy ? 

Bpprebensions 

\ I rHAT meaneth this din, this strife and commotion 

Coming hither afresh on the breeze — 
Moaning hoarse as the billows of ocean 
From the breast of tumultuous seas ? 

Whence this fashion of murder and plunder, 

This hungering greed of gold — 
All reckless as the rifting of thunder, 

Like the cyclone as cruel and bold ? 

Whence, whence, hath fled the ready bow 

Of the brave and famed in story ? 
Where love and faith and plighted vow, 

And the honor untarnished and hoary ? 



94 

Where the courage pure and the virtue's old, 

High aims to do and to dare ? 
Alas ! hath the knell of doom been tolled ? 

And is truth but a myth and a snare ? 

Whence this hatred, dread, and the lifted hands, 
And the stained souls of brothers ; 

Indifference, all, of rights demands, 
Or the weal, or the woe of others ? 

Do we haste headlong for some deep abyss, 

To maelstrom dark, profound, 
Whose treacherous waters seethe and hiss, 

Where the glee of but demons resound ? 

0, ye lovers of virtue, which ennoble mankind, 

Erst sacred in earth as in heaven ! 
What answer have ye, what solution find ; — 

To our questions what responses are given ? 

Shall we seek of a star, whose trembling bar 
Has shown mid the heavens for ages ? 

Shall we look still beyond in the distance far, 
Or scan over history's pages ? 

0, ye patriots and worthies, 0, ye sages of old ! 

Ye wise of all climes and all ages ! 
Whatever the curse of the greed of gold 

When the lust of the demon it engages ? 

Nay, alas, nay, indeed, we have not the need, 

In our query of wandering afar ; 
If the brighter light of right we'd heed 

Lo, the gleams of a Bethlehem's star. 



95 

" Do unto others," this the guiding star, 

All golden, bright gleaming and pure, 
In the universe round, or near, or afar, 

Shall this beacon forever endure. 

Let the peoples take warning in the morning's bright 
dawning, 
Nor wait for the shadows of night, 
Lest its guiding ray shall vanish away 
And withdraw forever its light. 
>.- .• «.- -■». 

Mitb Ubee, 2)ear %ov>e 

\ I I HEN twilight soft steals o'er the plain, 

And shadows lengthen round, 
And night o'er mount and murmuring main 

Now settles darkly down, 
My thoughts, ah yes, with thee, dear love, — 

My heart is then with thee. 

When homeward sings the humming bee 

With ladened precious store ; 
When others, all, from sorrow free 

Their pillows seek once more, 
'Tis then, I think of thee, dear love, — 

My heart is then with thee. 

While silence, sweet, now rests profound, 

Save voice of whispering sea, 
Where billows roll, and deep resound 

Along re-echoing lea, 
'Tis then I think of thee, dear love, — ' 

My heart is then with thee. 



96 

When stars gleam forth mid azure sky, 
Ami moon hath gentle beams, 

'Tis then is heard a whispered sigh 
Amid my troubled dreams. 

I'm thinking still of thee, dear love, — 
My heart is e'er with thee. 

God grant that soon unceasing ray 

Shall wreathe the mountain crest; 
Ah, then, with thee in heavenly day, 

My heart with thine shall rest, — 
My soul with thine shall rest. 

speed me on, dear God, my way 
To meet thee 'mong the blest, dear love,- 

To meet thee 'mong the bless'd. 



iir-jc^ orsic- 



/ll>v? Cburcb 

D LESS God ! Bless God for Church, or priest, or creed, 

Which makes life bright and better, 
Which souls of poor and toilworn feed, 
And make their griefs less bitter ; 

Which tender softens lowly bed, 

Help weary lids to close, 
Puts peaceful pillows 'neath the head, 

And soothes in Death's repose. 

1 love me most that church or creed, 

Whatever be its name, 
Which God's poor children loving leads 

And brings " good will " 'mong men. 



97 



I reverent bow my head to him 

And willing wait his will. 
(Though he were of but child-like ken, 
I, patient, hear him preach of sin,) 

Who acts God's holy will. 

I care me not for church or creed 

And what it tells of sin, 
If but the wise with dogmas feed 

Sees poor in visions dim. 

I worship not in vaulted hall, 

Mid soft and silken aisles, 
Where soiled steps unwelcome fall 

And rhetoric rich beguiles. 

I love me most the rustic walls, 

E'en grass-spread earthen floor, 
Where God's poor children hear His call 

Through ever open door. 

3t 3s fftnisfoeo! Jt 3s Done! 

Douglas Gunn 

IT is finished, it is done ! 

And the slow, measured tread, 
At the tap of the drum, 

Tell the tale of the dead— 
That his journey is run. 



98 

Let the rising of sun 

And the evening's dun 
List to the sough of the murmuring seas ; 

Let the valley and plain 

From the mount to the main 

Join the grateful refrain 
With the breath of the whispering breeze 

O'er his tomb, " Well done." 

Let the moistened eye 

And tearful sigh 
Respond to that voice 

From beyond the sky 
Well done, Well done. 

And as seasons come, 

And as seasons go, 
And as time ever ebbs 

In its ceaseless flow, 
Let this be our chime 
In a cheerful rhyme, 
Rest, rest, noble soul ! 
You have reached safe the goal 
And your honors are now — 

Well done, Well done." 

Not the finger of time 

Shall ever erase 
From our hearts and minds 

Thy name or thy face. 

Adieu, dear brother, comrade, friend, adieu! 
Thrice noble soul, adieu, Farewell ! Adieu ! 



99 

/!!>£ Bligbteo flower 

5WEET blighted bloom : thou wert a sigh, 
The silent speech of moistened eye, 
The echo sad of nestling's cry, 
Alas, my blighted flower ! 

Why should'st thou fall amid the vale, 
With leaflet soft, with petals pale, 
With drooping crest and tendril frail, 
My loved, yet withered flower ? 

Amid parterre, a beauteous gleam, 
Awoke by kiss of morning beam ; 
A star amid a sunny sheen — 
To vanish like an infant dream, 
My lovely fallen flower. 

Though blush hath faded from thy cheek 
Yet smile upon thy lips doth speak 
Of angels who love's vigils keep 
O'er thee, my fallen flower. 

But though amid life's whirling thrall, 
Beneath night's overspreading pall 
Thy petals fade too soon and fall ; 
Yet, soon indeed, the angel's call 
Shall wake again my flower. 

For while in dust shall dust decay, 
The tomb's uplit by heavenly ray 
Which guides the spirit, free, awny^ 
To glories of eternal day, 
Immortal, my flower ! 



100 

Urutb 

TRUTH is a power, calm and serene, 
Enthroned, eternal, and supreme ; 
In robes of light, in mien sublime, 
She waves the olive branch divine. 

Adown receding steps of time, 
In every age, in every clime, 
In every land, o'er every main, 
Her poten wand fore'er shall reign. 

And who shall list her voice of peace, 
And bid life's warring tumult cease, 
In prose or verse, or rhythmic rhyme, 
He but re-echoes voice divine ; 
And he's the hero greater far 
Than he who bares his arm for war. 

Each in his own peculiar way 
Hath some due part, in life, to play ; 
Though mortals all, or great or small, 
We're God's creations, one and all. 

Be firm, my soul, be strong and free 
Amid life's noisy, boisterous sea ! 
Heed not what other's paths may be ; 
Bear up, alone, thy manly part, 
See that thy hand all faithful art, 
And heed the whispering of thine heart. 



I" 



101 

Ikalafeaua 

E is dead — aye, dead ! 

Aye, lieth low the kingly head. 



To-day in state, encrowned, a king, 
Before his feet, all flowerets fling ; 
In honor e'en the bell doth ring ! 
Erect, in hope, and health at morn, 
At eve, in shrouds that nobte form ! 
A chilling blast from northern zone, 
That lamp of life, alas, outblown. 

Sigh, gentle winds 

O'er monarch grave ; 
Sad requiem sing, 

Pacific wave ; 
Bend low, ye palms, 

Mid tropic seas, 
Where coral strand 

Pacific laves. 

Bring down those colors 

Mid the mast, — 
Thus King falls low 

'Neath deathly blast ! 
Aye, o'er him icy bonds are clasped. 

Hawaii's King, beloved, renowned, 

In death's cold clasp 

Forever bound ! 

s 
Aye, such the world ! 

Both name and fame, 



102 

How soon entombed, 

In dust decay ! 
The high and low 

Quick fall — away. 

Aye, each declining setting sun 
Proclaims the race of millions run ! 
Alike the King with humblest fall, 
Alike for all the bier and pall. 

Adieu, adieu, farewell ! 

Let truthful pen thy history tell. 
When hushed the sigh 

And silent, all, the muffled bell. 

Then truthful pen thy history tell : 
That truth and honor well combined, 
With heart all loving, tender, kind, 

Were thine, King ! 
Adieu, farewell. 



■xss^si^tsr^jD- 



Ube /Ifcarrtacje Uie 

THE marriage bond, if bond unkept, 
Were vow o'er which the angels wept, 
While sense and conscience blindly slept. 
The marriage tie, when love makes laws, 
Hath soul and sense to plead its cause, 
Aye, such indeed, hath heaven's applause. 



103 

Does $t pap? 

THE primal query of the day 
Is : " Does it pay ? " 
Is it good ? Is it noble ? 
Is it just? Is it wise ? 
Nay, nay, does it pay ? 
These the questions of the day. 

If we help our erring brother 
From his trouble and his bother, 
Does it pay ? 
That's the question of the day. 

If to tear, or to sigh, 

Or to prayer give we heed ; 

Give a roof 'neath the sky, 
Or a hungry stomach feed, 

Does it pay ? Far too often this 

Were the question of the day. 

Shall we help to build a kirk, 
And devoutly list to prayer, 

While we christian duties shirk, 
(And to cheat we ne'er forbear), 

Does it pay ? 

Let this be the query, 

Rightly studied for the day. 

If we grasp in eager haste, 

All the world's most costly store, 

And shall waste in boorish taste, 
All our gold in pride galore, 



104 

Does it pay ? 

This indeed, indeed, should be 
(From all idle jesting free) 
The question of the day — 
Does this pay ? 

If so amid life's busy whirl, 

We reckless cast our lot, 
And sink beneath resistless swirl, 

Aye, does it pay ? or does it not ? 
Be this the query 
Of the thoughtful mind to-day ; 
Aye, does this pay ? or does it not ? 

Is it wise ? 

If we our lives in trifling haste, 

All higher aims destroy, 
(While better nature stifle — waste), 

In weak pursuit of toys, 
Does it pay ? 

This, too, a worthy question, 
Aye, an apt one for our day. 

And if we empty baubles chase, 
Which phantom-like shall fly, 

And win but blanks, and troubles taste- 
Rewards but tear and sigh, 

Does it pay ? 

This, indeed, were aptly put 

As the question of the day. 

Does this pay ? 



105 

If we but for our pocket-book 

Shall give supremest care, 
While all earth's beauties blind o'er look, 

And blind to heaven's so fair — 
All nature's e'er a sealed book 
Which loving God declares, 
Aye, does it pay ? 
Supremest question of the day ! 

We may not moralize too much ; 
The giddy world scarce cares to touch 
The higher questions of the day, 
More prone to query : Does it pay ? 
Remembering not we're surely all, 

But phantoms, fleeting — quick away ; 
That e'er we're nearing bier and pall 

To early dust, to quick decay. 

What little good we may do here 
Alone shall " pay " beyond the spheres ; 
All else but phantoms of the day, 
To quickly vanish, fade away. 



'tKS3>tir->ffl' 



flDornfng 

'TIS morn : Its waking light in blushes bright, 
y Gleams through my window pane. 
Lo, sunbeams rest on mountain crest 
And gild the peaceful plain. 



106 

Now tuneful bee hums o'er the lea, 

And joins the glad refrain, 
Of birds which sing on merry wing. 

And flit o'er mount and main. 

Go, sons of toil, who till the soil — 

Go, whistling happy swain ; 
Go, speed the plow in furrow now, 

For day has come again. 

Go, speeding feet through busy street, 
Through thronging noisy mart ; 

Go, while the sun his journey run, 
And bear life's willing part, 

Till day is done, its battles won, 

Till life's last rays depart. 

sons of toil ! In God's sunshine 
Go forth in joy, life's laborers all ; 
Your hands employ till curtains fall, 

And hushed the throbbing heart. 

Go, bless that Sun whose beam shall shine 
Through evening dun, in gleams divine ; 
Whose morning ray our souls illume 
And light our way beyond the tomb — 
Beyond the realms of clay : 

Go, bless the Lord for light divine, 
Whose glorious beams still brighter shine 
Through heaven's eternal day. 



107 

Ube 2>eaf flfcan's Sigb 

| AM sitting alone in my silent room, 

Ah me ! alone in my soundless world — ; 
Like a ship that drifts through the depths of gloom, 

With idle rudder and sad sails furled ; 
Carried away on a wave's high crest 

To a height that looks on the wild sea's face, 
Or buried deep in the water's breast 

Where never a song nor a sound has place. 

Yet I may not weep, for I weep alone, 

And tears shed singly had best be dry ; 
I cannot laugh though my heart has known 

That the world has laughter as long as I. 
And so in silence I follow the tide 

With face turned up to the stars in prayer 
For a voice to hear and a light to guide 

My weak worn ship to the harbor there. 

I would some angel might open my ears 

To the song of birds and the hum of the bees, 
And fill their porches, so still for years, 

With all the music of land and seas. 
But, no, I must dwell in a soundless place, 

With only the beat of my heart for sound ; 
Yet the sombre silence can ne'er efface 

What God has written on all around. 

Though my ship seems drifting, my frail sails furled, 
And all at the mercy of wind and sea, y 

I am living, a part of God's good world, 
Expectant awaiting His signal for me. 



108 

/n>£ Cbristmas b£ tbe San Joaquin 

A ND this is Christmas time ; a day of mirth 
# And peace and happiness for all mankind ; 
A day of rest and gladness o'er the earth 

When ties of friendship closer seem to bind. 
I am alone ; and it is Christmas time 

In every land save where I am to-day. 
It seems not Christmas here ; yet in this clime 

Is beauty that shall never pass away. 
No winter cometh here. The shadows play 
On hill and meadow, and the sunlight falls 
With softest smiles. Yet not one anthem calls 
Me from the sadness of my reverie, 
Beside the river where I stand and wait — 

Wait for I know not what — for what is gone, 
Never to come again. The wings of fate 

Come rushing near to bear me on and on. 

I am alone beside a crystal river 

More fair and bright than all on earth beside ; 
Deep in the waves I watch the shadows quiver, 

The mirror of the mountains far and wide. 
'Tis fair to see ; but sadness comes and steals 

Through all my being as I stand and think 
Of other days and other times and years. 
And there are questions which my soul conceals 

And will not risk an answer. On the brink 
Of pebble-strand the waves are chiding low 

With murmur faint. All else is lone and still, 
Save whispers of the breeze, and distant flow 

Of rivulets adown yon flowery hill. 



109 

Tis more like the soft cadence of the spring 

Than like the Christmas days that I have known. 
Wild flowers to the wind their fragrance fling, 

And gentler sunshine ne'er on earth has shone. 

Yet, for all this, the day to me is lone. 
There is an emptiness I cannot fill. 
The memories rising from the long ago 
Come thronging to me, thronging, whispering still ; 

And whispering evermore and everywhere 
Of the lost past which I no more shall know, 

And of the fated dreams that perished there. 

'Tis summer here, and trees are waving green, 

And nature throbs with passion calmed to rest. 
The light falls softly o'er the calm Joaquin 

With all the strange, deep rapture of the West. 
But where thou art, my Vivien, the snows 

Have clothed the hills in far and faultless white. 
The icy wind along the woodland blows 

Through all the wildness of the winter night. 
But, take me there, even in the dreary gloom 
Of frozen forests and the icy stream. 

Yes, were I there with thee to-day it seems 
That I would think not of the golden bloom 

Of this strange land, and all its summer dreams. 

I would forget all that I ever knew 

Of alien climes that I have wandered o'er, 

And be with thee awhile, and tell thee true 
That where thou art is fairer than the shore 

Of mystic Isles beyond the dreamy sea. 



110 

For where thou art is all the world to me — 
All else is desert, though the sunlight shines 

In radiance evermore, and flowers bloom 

That know not death, nor wave of autumn gloom, 
But live unfading, and the wild vine twines 

Its tendrils o'er the rocks of ancient gold. 
All this is desert, for thou 'rt not here, 
My Vivien, and the world is strangely drear. 

'Tis Christmas time, and I have wandered far 

In memory away. The light of days 
Now past is like the gleaming of a star 

To one who roams upon the ocean ways. 
'Tis winter where thou art ; yet winter ne'er 

Can chill the warmness of that heart of thine. 
Though we have parted, thou and I, forever, 

Think not a moment that thou art not mine. 
Think not that years shall dull till I forget 

What I have promised thee — but let that pass 
It is not for the best. The sun hath set 

On other days — perchance it may be well. 

I brush all that aside as one would brush 

A leaf away that bends his pathway o'er. 
Though I cannot forget thee, I can crush 

All memories that rise from out the yore ; 
And it is done. And I am left alone 

Beside the river, far from homes of men. 

The day is passing not to come again 
Until a year of change has come and flown ; 



Ill 

And ere shall come another Christmas tide, 

What mortal knoweth where my path shall be ! 
I know this only : to be satisfied 
As best I can, and meet what waiteth me. 
Fresno, Cal. Hu Maxwell 

H)Ut£ 

THOU art the star agleam mid blushing day ; 
Not noon-day beam, not sun's effulgence bright 

To chase away dark phantoms of the night, 
But that still, soft and gentle lighting ray 
Which guides us safe through life's e'er tortuous way 

By inner whispers in the cause of right. 

Amid our doubts and dreads be still our light, 
Our faltering footsteps still with courage stay. 
As on we haste, life's journey swiftly run, 

Still be our trustful onward guiding star. 
And when our race with all its toils be done, 

May yet thy cheerful brightly twinkling bar 
Beam still benignant mid life's deepening dun, 

And throw its radiance on to realms afar. 




S 



112 

Ubc Spanfsb pafcre 

r\F antique cast and kindly mien, 
Now Padre leads with easy hand 

His Hocks throughout the peaceful strand ; 
The well beloved of all the land — 
The gentle soul mid all life's scenes. 

With patient step and prudent tread, 
All reverent hail the cowled head, 
Wherein were wit and wisdom wed. 

A welcome guest at every hearth, 
At marriage feast, or bier, or birth, 
The one adored of all the earth. 

A holy, just, yet gracious soul, 
Nay such as he in heavenly scroll 
Grows brighter still as ages roll. 

Now children seek his circling arm 

And gentle, loving breast, 
While manhood bows before his charm 

And age beneath his crest. 

Unselfish, faithful, genial, kind, 
To duty's call not deaf or blind ; 
'Neath holy cross with myrtle twined, 
The tonsured head in peace reclines, 

Beyond the clash and clang and strife 
'Yond sordid din of modern life ; — 
A holy, just, yet generous soul. 
Find name of him in heavenly scroll ; 
Shall brighter grow as time shall roll. 






113 

Uo Governor Waterman 

Ql DIEU to pomp, to place and State ! 
I Roll on ye wheels — beloved State ; 
Benignant heaven o'errule thy fate, 
And welcome, too, if come not late, 
A wiser man to guide thy fate. 

Welcome to home, to waiting hearth, 
An honest man as e'er had birth ; 
To toilsman's son of humble birth, 
Right welcome thee to prince's worth. 

Ne'er hath a worthier name been sung 

In any land, by pen or tongue. 

Though ne'er this theme o'er earth were flung, 

Or ne'er his fame by millions sung, 

Still, few more worthy toilsman's son, 

Beneath our beaming southern sun. 

So welcome home to heart and hearth, 
Anew with toils the loins to girth. 
Inured to care, to labor wed, 
Erect still hold that honored head ! 

" Peace hath its victory " e'en as war — 
An honest will the guiding star 
Still beaming bright from realms afar 
Ne'er leads the statesman far astray, 
But safer guide us day by day. 

All welcome then, by honor led, ' 
All hail we then, the uncrowned head . 



114 

Snfancg 

THE beaming morn from which the cloudlets fly, 
The landscape fair, o'er which swift shadows chase, 

While mingling sunbeams join the merry race. 
A gurgling fount, which tears distilled, a cry : — 
A rapturous joy, sweet blending with the sigh, 

Ere yet deceit or sinful blush deface, 

Or sorrows leave their ever deepening trace ; 
The beauteous vale o'erspread with fragrant bloom, 

The golden blush o'er gilded mountain crest, 
Ere yet the beaming, weary, sultry noon 

Glides darkly down beneath the clouding West : 
A laugh, a cry, a hope, too soon the sigh, 
And ere were yet life well begun. Ah, yes ; 
A joy, a hope of life, a blessed boon : 
This, this, indeed is infancy. 



'XSi^S^isr^jrx. 



Ube %\Qht of tbe Worlo 

THE BIBLE 

Q HOARY book of truth sublime ! 

The beacon light on shores of time, 
Beam on forever, star divine. 

" Book of Love," all restful, pure, 

For ills of life the blessed cure, 

And which with time shall still endure. 

" Book of Wisdom," all divine 

Whose notes with song of seraph's rhyme, 

Whose chorus through the ages chime. 

" Book of every Voice "and age, 
The treasured wealth of saint and sage, 
Emblazoned truth on every page. 



115 

" Book of Law," though just, severe, 
Not vengeful, all, and though austere 
Thou tell'st of God to love and fear. 

" matchless treasure," bounteous store, 
A wealth untold of precious lore, 
Which more we know the more adore. 

Eternal, blessed, sacred scroll, 
We find in it for heart and soul 
The one unfailing, healing goal. 

"living fount" from mountain base — 
Meandering through life's weary waste, 
Let man thy healing waters taste. 

" sheltering rock " mid desert land, 
The mountain crest sublimely grand, 
Thy ramparts firm eternal stand ! 

" gleaming light " of Bethlehem's Star, 

Beam on eternal from afar. 

No power of earth thy light shall bar. 

While age on age sublime shall roll, 
As time the knell of aeons toll, 
0, onward lead the searching soul. 

While glowing stars from heaven shall fall, 
Till spreads o'er earth her final pall, 
Till God to higher realms shall call — 

His scattered wanderers round his throne : 

In every age, and clime and zone, 

0, lead earth's children upward — home. 



116 



©ne Dollar a 2>a£ 

f\NE dollar ! one dollar ! 'Tis my wage for a day ; 

One dollar for my sweat and my toil ; 
For the crust of the starving slave. 
But gold is my master, and I must obey. 

At his beck and his call, 'neath his stern frigid nod, 
I'll take up the pick or shoulder the hod. 
Necessity calls, and I'll wait not his rod 
Of hunger and pain and sorrow. 

Scoop dust from the highway; — yes, drudge in the soil ; 
Trail the plow and the harrow. I will not recoil ; 
But patient will plod for the wants of to-morrow. 

Aye, gold thus commands me — I'm doomed to obey ; 
And this is the part in life's drama I play ! 
And my price for my role is one dollar a day ! 

But list me, I'll hush and away, quick away ; 
Why murmur 'gainst fate ? Why vainly inveigh 
Against gold ? 'Tis too late, I am doomed to obey ! 
For gold, he is king ! Naught has the peon to say ! 
For his price it is fixed — one dollar a day ! 

Yet, there's rest for the weary — 

In Heaven — only there ! 
Yond the opening of the portal, 

Lo, the landscape fair. 
There we cease from our toiling — 

Yond the reach of despair. 



117 

H Xittle Bit Hwas 

A ROUND the lattice roses twined ; 
' The air was sweet with new-mown hay : 
And through the half-shut window blind 
I watched my darling at his play. 

Beyond him lay the meadow green ; 

He gazed awhile with longing eyes, 
Then ventured, as he thought, unseen, 

Within forbidden boundaries. 

Back through the open gateway wide, 
Under the porch's clinging vine, 

He came, until he reached my side, 
And slipped his tiny hand in mine. 

Then said, while shame the bright eyes shut, 

As one not wont to disobey : 
' I didn't mean to do it, but 

I runned a little bit away." 

We who have older, wiser grown, 

Which do we merit, blame or praise ? 

The gate is always open thrown, 
That leads into forbidden ways. 

And every life holds some regret, 

The memory of an erring day ; 
We " didn't mean to do it," yet 

We " runned a little bit away. 

Lillian Plunkett 



118 



mc've Manfcerefc 

AH yes, dear friend; indeed, too true, 
' From youth to age, life's journey through, 
Too oft, too oft, we've " runned awaj'"; 
Some gaudy wing along our path 
We quick pursued, with gleeful laugh; 
Heedless of wrong, we " runned away." 

And ere we caught that gauzy wing, 
And learned how frail the beauteous thing, 
(If not e'en felt a poisonous sting) 
We've found our feet far, far astray. 

Alas, that yond the gateway wide, 

Where flowerets grew mid thorn and tare, 
Where poison's fruits were oft most fair, 

Our youthful feet had none to guide, 
And so we often " runned " astray. 

When manhood steps o'er landscape fair 
Sought fame or fortune, health or wealth, 
Lo ! untaught feet entrapped by stealth, 

Struggling amid relentless snare — 
From sheltering fold ran far away. 

Alas ! 'tis now the autumn sere, 
About us falls the crimson leaf, 
And few, indeed, the garnered sheaf; 

And sigh comes oft, and now a tear, 
That oft, so oft, we've "runned away." 



119 

IReturntng 

A H, yes, 'tis now the twilight hour — 
/ Soon darkness deepens into night, 

But then, ah, heaven's benignant power ! 
Out from her ports comes beaming bright 
Her gentle gleams o'er stormy tide, 
Her glowing flame o'er chasm wide, 
Earth's wandering children from afar 
Hence heavenward wooingly invite 
Those who have wandered far away. 

Beware 

(To a child friend in presence of peril) 

DEWARE, beware, dear child, beware ! 

In every path lurks hidden snare. 
First, erring step, and then — despair. 
Beware, beware, dear child, beware ! 

Beware if passion offering brings, 
Ere yet his toils around thee flings; 
The serpent whispers ere he stings. 
Beware, dear child, beware ! 

Beware of treacherous viper's dart, 

The cankering, deepening, festering smart, 

The bleeding, anguished, withering heart. 

Beware, dear child, beware ! 

Beware when open shame shall smile, 

Beware when secret sins beguile, 

And would thy spotless robes defile, 

Beware, dear child, beware ! 



120 

If near thy feet some serpent coils, 
Which purest heart would base despoil, 
And wreck thy life mid loathed toils, 
Stamp quick the reptile 'neath the soil; 

Lest, when too late thy cries of pain, 

Thy fears, and pangs, and prayers were vain — 

Hopeless and helpless — naught but shame, — 

Beware, dear child, beware ! 

First erring step, and then — despair, 

Beware, beware ! 

Ah, list, dear child, beware ! 

H)eatb 

a r\ Death, where is thy sting ? " 

The common friend — not foe — of earth 

Is Death ! and though familiar with His face 

Who free consents to join the mystic race ? 
His darkened shadow lingers from our birth, 
And waits, impatient specter, near each hearth. 

Unmoved amid outrunning sands of time 

Who willing sounds Death's awful depths sublime ? 

But nay. Why need we blanch beneath his breath ? 
Lo, yond the unbroken depths of rayless night, 

He who creates, in cheerful whisper, saith : 
" Fear not ; nay, list ! Not to destroy My might ; 

'Tis universal weal, not woe ; all heavens, beneath 
Though I dissolve, I yet upbuild, uplight ; 

And for my work, Omnipotent is Death." 



121 

Uhc {promise 

DLUE, crimson, and orange, 

Brown, scarlet, and gold — 
All beauteous, indeed, 
As the Iris' sweet bow ; 
Thus the robes of the heavens 
In their sunset glow. 
Thus glorious be the promise 
At the knell of the day — 
When Night shall her mantle 
All tenderly throw, 
And time's silent river 
Still onward shall flow. 
For the down-going sun 
In his garments of gold 
Hastes still on his journey — 
From night unto day. 
And the night is but shadow — 
The trail left behind 
When the sun in his halo 
Speedeth onward his way. 
And the moan of the billow 
And the sough of the wind 
Bear the tears of the storm 
All speeding away, 
And lovingly bringeth 
In mercy divine ^ 

The smiles of the heavens 
In an undying day. 



122 

XTbe malts of tbe ©lens 

ANNITA, BORN NOVEMBER 13, 1888. 

5 HE came — 
When the sun was adown 
And a sombre brown 
Had deepened into night — 

At The Glens. 

When the beasts were at rest, 
And the birds on their nests, 
In the hush of the night — 

At The Glens. 

When beclouded sky, 
And the wind's low sigh 
Told of autumn night ! — 

At The Glens. 

When from yonder main, 
Over mesa and plain, 
Came up through the night — 

At The Glens, 

Over mount and o'er lea, 

The breath of the murmuring sea. 

And the twinkling bars 

Of the sinking stars, 

Shed their feeble light 

Through the mists of the night, 

Which hung o'er the silent Glens ; 

A nickering light, 
Shone out that night 
From our cottage door 

In The Glens. 



123 

And it caught kindly eyes, 
In the realms of the skies, 
Of an angel, unknown before 

At The Glens. 

And that angel so kind, 
So generous of mind, 
On the wings of the wind, 
Came swift to our cottage door 
In the Glens. 

And with sweetest smile 
She tarried a while 
"Within our cottage door — 

And when came she within, 

She saw there had been 

No angel therein before 

For a score and a half years or more. 

So, dear angel so kind, 
And so generous of mind, 
Before taking her flight 
From the Glens that night, 
Left her image to adore, 
And to keep e'er more 
In our cottage known as 

The Glens. 

Thus indeed our innocent came, 
(Without herald or fame) 
Which we lovingly name 
" M. Annita " at the Otay Glens. 



124 

Birth ant> H>catb at tbc (Blcns 

M ERCY 

| Bom, at the Glens, to Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Pelton, on 
night of December 14, 1889, a daughter — ten pounds. 
" Mother and babe doing well."] 



T 



Birth 

WAS a night of darkness and storm at the Glens; 

And too oft doth the hearth, in harmony blend 
The sigh with the winds which sweep o'er the earth. 

Vet with Hope's lighted lamp, 

Though so lliekering and damp, 
We welcome wee stranger to a home in our camp. 

Without herald or fame 

Her, Mercy we name, 
The second and last at the Glens. 

Death — at the Glens, December 21st 

She's but a blighted, fallen flower, 

The hope and promise of the hour — 
A frosted, withered, faded leaf, 
Ever and emblem meet of grief, 

Our llowerct bloomed so soon to fade — 

Too soon intombed our hope is laid. 
A chilling blast our flower doth fall — 
A birth, a death, a shroud, a pall. 

Relentless death, no power shall stay ; 

We yield to God's mysterious sway ; 
And know that death as life fulfill 
Omnipresent Heaven's benignant will. 



125 

Jfrefca 

(Born December 28, IS'JO.) 

INTO the west the sun had gone, 

The Glens are still in the twilight hour; 
The bee has forgotton his pledge to the flower, 
And left her out in the field alone. 

The lowing kine have all come home, 

The light leaves whisper now in the breeze, 
And the fearless shadows from under the trees 

Creep into the open, and night has come. 

Nature has hushed into sleep till morn : 
Out of the sky a white star falls, 
Out of the shadow a new voice calls, 

And one more soul to our hearth is born. 

All the night lists a whispered song of praise 
To Him who giveth both joy and pain ; 
Who giveth and taketh unto Himself again 

The gifts He bestowed for years or days. 

And so when the sun came up in the east 
And the bees fly back to the opening flowers, 
The child, which we call so gratefully ours, 

Cozily sleeps on a mother's breast. 

* * $ $ * -! ; 

Dear God, beneath Thy sheltering wing, 

Beneath Thy loving care, 
May babe ne'er feel the serpent's sting, 

Ne'er fall in nameless snare. 
To Thee our precious offering bring 

With loving, earnest prayer. 



126 

7TH0UGH skies once bright with morning sun 

Blend into night ere day is done; 
Though night be drear with wind and storm, 
And linger long the waited morn; 
Though hopes once fondest of the hour 
Are now the blighted fading flower; 

Though warmest hearts all chilly grow, 
No more with blest affections glow — 
But cold as e'er were Alpine snow; 
Though ties the dearest known on earth 
No more may bless the sacred hearth, 
Though trusted ones prove false — betray — 
And friendships linger but a day; 
E'en though by slander's blighting tongue 
(A venomed dart) one's heart be strung, 
Till soul with anguished grief be wrung; 

Yet still there'r skies both bright and clear, 
Which have no clouds of dread and fear; 
Which do not quick with gloom enshroud, 
And hang o'er heaven the tearful cloud; 
E'en nights there be whose beaming star 
Its radiance casts from skies afar. 

And souls there be forever true; 
And friendships ever fresh and new; 
And tongues on which no hatreds burn — 
Which cruel slanders, loathing spurn; 



127 

And ties there be which stronger grow, 
Aye, which with years e'en warmer glow; 
And dreams, and fancies of the hour, 
Which do not fade, the withered flower. 

With Hope's still lighted flickering lamp, 
We linger still mid leaguered camp; 
Though visions vanish, phantoms fly, 
With ever waiting, wistful eye, 
From blushing dawn to evening sun, 
We patient, hopeful, struggle on. 



't5TS i *S>-T3?Sai' 



" Sometime, Somewbere " 

Dear Feiend 

HH, yes, " may be" : and this, indeed, is life : 

' You "hope" we'll meet again "sometime, somewhere": 

We live in hope ; bless God, we ne'er despair. 
Amid the clamor all of human life, 
Its tears and toils, and all its sorrows rife, 

We ever see some distant landscape far, 

And hope we'll find some peace and pleasure there, 
Where love shall hush all griefs and wrangling strife. 

Uncertainty : benignant all, and wise 
That doubt o'erclouds, and hope up-lights our way. 

In God's good time shall life's dark curtain rise ; 
And holy joy in heaven's sweet beaming ray 

Shall greet anew the wistful, weary eyes, 
And touch our lips with heaven's long silent lay, — 

Sometime, somewhere. 



128 

H "Requiem 

(On the recent demise of the Austrian Count at National City, Cal.) 

j^vE Bleeps in death ! Alas, in death. 
/ Too soon were quenched that youthful breath ! 
Death's icy touch his lip hath chilled ; 

There lieth low his manly form ; 
His throbbing heart to silence stilled, 

And from his dust his spirit gone. 

No more, alas, his flag beneath, 

His noble arm shall sword unsheathe. 
No more beneath his beaming eye, 
From Victory's field shall vanquished fly. 

Alas, too soon, that noble head 

Forever rests among the dead. 

But soul, to dust no longer wed, 

Hath winged its way beyond the skies, 
And there, with God, the vision dies. 

The race of life, how soon suspended, 

The curtain falls, the scene is ended. 




m 



129 

Conscience 

YSTERIOUS power : 

Fast friend of reason and of truth, 
Not always beaming bright, forsooth, 
In manhood strong, in gentle youth — 
Nay, nay. 

When best this lamp doth guide our way — 
E'en mid the beaming bright of day, 
Too oft, too oft, we go astray — 

Aye, far astray. 

With reason deaf, and conscience blind, 
We're but the sport of whirling wind, 
To hopeless ruin sure inclined — 

Aye, quick inclined. 

God grant us then mid doubt and fear 

A conscience tender, quick and clear — 

Oh, precious gem. 

God grant we keep it without fear, 
Its gentle whispers fail not hear. 

Forever dear, priceless gem. 



i&r^jQ^rjr- jo ■ 



IReason 



pilrC God's creative hand had stayed, 
Supremest wisdom were displayed, 
Omniscient thought ; lo, man is made 
On earth supreme ! 



130 

Endowed with reason, Adam named, 
With august mien and ample brain, 
Man, now o'er earth is king proclaimed 
August, supreme ! 

Alas ! Not always safe doth reason guide; 
Nay, oft 'neath ignorance and pride 
This safest light were wont to hide 

Its guiding gleam. 

When doth this compass fail to keep 
True onward course o'er stormy deep, 
Nay, when doth reason languid sleep, 
Mid strife of life, 

We but the pangs of sorrow reap 

And on life's journey downward sweep, 

Amid life's wrecks, and vainly weep 

Too late, too late, the ills of life. 

Alas, when reason yields her seat, 
No more her watchful vigils keep, 
Behold, then, speedy and complete, 

The wreck of life. 

Hffection 

Ll AN DM AID of Love : 

/ Oh holy ray of gem divine, 

In human hearts benignant shine. 

Blessed boon of life which souls entwine, 
That spirit pure of love divine, 
Within our hearts find sacred shrine. 



131 

While journeying o'er life's treacherous sands 
By gentle, soft, yet strongest bands, 
Oh, join for e'er pure hearts and hands. 

Within our souls unceasing glow, 
While yet life's burthens lighter grow, 
Till tears and sighs no more we know. 

Ah, guiding ray, blest light divine, 
While life be ours and time be thine, 
Bright o'er our pathway gentle shine. 

Gbaritp 

f\F all life's beauties, fairest, best, 

Of all heaven's bounties Godly — blest, 
In all God's vineyards chiefest guest, 
Through time, through all eternity, 
Lo, calmly throned sweet charity. 

Her robes e'en though not spotless all, 
She hides them not; and less would call 
Attention to another's fall. 

As beauteous as the Iris bow, 

As pure as gems of Alpine snow, 
This gentle goddess of the land, 
With wand of love in lifted hand, 
Bedecks with flowers life's desert sands. 

Of all earth's boons the one divine, 
Of all heaven's gifts, the chief, sublime, 
This God-like virtue e'er be mine. 
Sweet Charity. 



132 

1bope 

IMMORTAL hope: faithful bride, 
O'er weary plain or desert wide, 
Or angry sea, still at my side. 

Benignant, beaming, heavenly star, 
Send forth thy gladness from afar! 
beacon light mid stormy deep, 
O'er clouded pathway vigils keep; 
And while we sigh, with sorrows weep, 
As through our midnight darkness grope, 
Beam forth, O blessed star of hope. 

Man's last fond, lingering, faithful friend, 
Thy gleams of sunshine still shall blend, 
And light life's shadows to the end. 

Aye, beam o'er journey to the tomb, 
O, linger round the sacred urn, 
On shores immortal still, still burn, 
And guide us safely heavenward — home. 



■Xg^-J&^-tX^JQ- 



ffaitb 

\ J I HEN cyclone wrath shall waste the plain, 
When angry storm shall sweep the main, 
When sighs, and tears, and prayers were vain, 
Lo, Faith still whispers: " Peace be still ! " 

So, mid life's sorrows, doubts and fears, 
Mid all its toils, its griefs and tears, 
? Neath cold indifference, taunts and sneers, 
" Be patient, soul, " Faith whispers still. 



133 

"Rise, faltering one, and hush thy sigh; 
Be clouds away, let darkness fly, 
Be soothed thy sorrows, dried thine eye." 
Faith whispers still: "Peace, weary soul; 
Awaits thee soon thy heavenly goal." 
" Aye, God is near," Faith whispers still. 

Eternal %ovc 

\ I I HEN now the Almighty Fatherhood 
Amid a darkened chaos stood, 
He light o'er vasty deep proclaimed 
O'er clouded mount and veiled main. 

'Twere now some fitting speech were Avooed, 
And word found fittest, best was good — 
To give his august works a name 
Throughout all new nature's domain. 

Lo, night's now sombre draperies fold, 

Like phantoms, haste away; 
And sun uplifts his crown of gold, 

Then beams the primal day. 

And now amid the heavens above 
What impulse rules supreme — 'tis love, 
The Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, 
Bright glowing Star mid realms agleam, 
Eternal beaming love is seen. 

With outstretched, lustrous, gentle wing, 
With golden burnished crown, 

Love smiles; o'er chaos, radiance flings, 
And bids begone its frowns. 



Oh, love — sublime, mysterious power ! 
From rarest vine this beauteous flower, 
When thou art mine, in that glad hour, 
Then more were mine than earthly dower. 

Let those who'd know Hiipremest joy, 
Their hearts and hands in love employ, 
Thus earn a bliss with least alloy. 

Eternal Love : 

Till dust to dust, till earth to earth returns, 
Within our souls, love celestial burn: 
Through sombre shadows of the tomb, 
Through aerial spheres where spirits roam, 
Lead us, oh love, ah heavenward — home ! 

Of JC B" M 

ttove 

r\ LOVE, thou'rt a sweet, though oft a wayward child ! 
Aye oft, indeed, by fond indulgence spoiled ; 
Then in thy mystic soul all treacherous coiled 

The serpent in whose venomed fangs the wild, 

Dread, warring passions only sleep beguiled. 
Then, purest waters by thy lips be roiled, 
And spotless garments by thy touch were soiled. 

love ! thou hast those whispers soft and mild 
Of holiest passion; or hast the simoon's breath — 

A sultry, scorching poison, withering blast, 
Before which virtue falls, and, faltering, saith : 

Lo, in thy bosom heavenly balm, or asp 
Concealed ; and who so rash encounters! h 
Thy sting, hath weary, hungering, wasting death. 



u/ 



135 
HILE still the years in ceaseless cycles roll, 



While still the lights on heavenly altars burn, 
Till dust to dust and chaos shall return, 
Till time the knell of all things earthly toll, 
Is love the one sweet soothing rest of soul ! 

Till heart-beats cease, till flesh find final urn, 

For thee, love, I hunger, nay I yearn 
For thy fruition, thy sweet blissful goal ! 

fount outflowing from God's holy throne ! 
O beauteous ray ! sweet gleam of heavenly love, 

Which o'er earth's pathway dark hath radiant shone, 
Since first uplighted were his realms above, 

Where e'er my steps in duty's errand roam, 
I'.r thou my solace sweet, my gentle, wooing dove. 



- .-' ».- -' 



©ur Xittle Sleepers 

FOUR little shoes near the hearth beside, 
Two little heads to their pillows glide, 
Two little babes 'neath the coverlets hide; 
Two little sleepers, side by side. 

How softly now little blue eyes close; 
How quickly they sink to the infant's repose; 
To dream sweet dreams of Angels? Who knows 
Whore pure little innocent spirits rove. 

We suppose that they wander through landscapes bright, 
Perennially bathed in sunbeam's lightp~ 
There mingle with cherubs mid scenes of delight; 
With this bless'd reflection we kiss them good night. 



136 

Dear, precious darlings, how fragrant our flowers, 
As the lilies are sweet, as the eglantine bowers 
When spring-time comes, and the April showers; 
And the happiest thought of all: " They are ours ! " 

Would that our lives were love-lightened as theirs; 
That our hearts were as pure and unburthened by years, 
And we, as sinless and trustful, could whisper our prayers; 
But we're grateful to God that our griefs are not theirs. 

TLhc /Ifcorn of Xife 

Q MORN of life, with blushes bright ! 

How sweet the passing hour 
When dawning da}^, in golden light, 
Awakes the sleeping flower. 

Ah, then, how gleam the little eyes, 

How tireless now the little hands; 
How cloudless now the beaming skies, 

Ere known or heard life's stern demands. 

How sweet the little dimpled cheek 

With only a fleck of silvery tears; 
Ere yet their deepening trace doth speak 

Of griefs, of doubts, of dreads and fears. 

God bless that sweet, dear, gladsome smile, 
And the tender, pure, sweet, innocent heart! 

God keep the budding life from guile, 
From the poison of disguised dart! 



137 



And as days and years go swiftly by, 
And bring their weary toils and cares, 

God grant few tears shall mingle with sigh 
To burthen life's on-speeding years! 



.' y .- ;* 



passion ano %ox>e 

SHE 

AS pure as Alpine gem of snow, 
' As liquid pearls which valeward flow 
In sparkling rills from mountain heights 
To silver lakes below. 

Her face, — its sweetness would illume 
E'en gloomy chambers of the tomb; 

As beauteous as the sunset glow, 
As gentle as the noon. 

Her heart as spotless as the veil 
Which o'er the bridal bosom trails; 

Her soul were as the precious drops 
Within the holy grail. 

No feeble tongue her worth can tell — 
Indeed, with angels fit to dwell. 

Ah, pitying God ! How sad the tale 
When fallen such, — dragged down to hell ! 

II K 

Ah, passion cursed ! 
Base, hideous monster — " of such mien 
As to be loathed need but be seen." 
" But seen too oft " his hated face, 



138 



She "first endures," and then, ah, then — 
The shame, the sin, the curse — disgrace ! 

That spotless soul, that stainless heart — 

Nay, who shall dare, with heinous thought, 
Thrust through its cords the cruel dart 
Which leaves for aye its blighting smart. 

Passion ! Godless, shameless thing ! 
Thou hast the pangs of viper's sting, 

The breath and death of upas tree. 
From heaven to hell a soul can bring, 

And hold it damned, eternally ! 



-TX^sx^ar-jrx. 



Gbilfc's Dance 

P"ET lambs amid life's rosy lea, 
Enjoy the blue sunshine. 
innocence and mirth aglee, 
A picture half divine. 

Be morn of life, a sweet romance 

Of love amid the flowers; 
Let youthful feet in merry dance 

Speed out the fleeting hours. 

0, dance, then dance, ye sportive lambs 

Amid the verdant lea; 
Glide smoothly o'er life's shifting sands, 

From toil and sorrow free. 

We live but once — then die, ah, soon ! 

A life then let us live; 
For soon we journey toward the tomb, 

And leave what earth shall give. 



139 

Bless God for childhood's happy hours, 

With all their sweetest charms. 
We'll strew its path with fragrant flowers, 

And jealous shield from harms. 

0, dance, then dance, with cheerful song ! 

Amid life's flowery lea; 
Glide safely on, merry throng, 

O'er youth's unruffled sea. 

Breams 

AND thus we dream: 

/ As tides unceasing ebb and flow, 

And time our head shall touch with snow, 
We dream, and dream — how little know ! 

Still dream and dream: 

Conjecture still; and dream as though 
(All pensive wandering to and fro), 
No sage the same dreamed long ago. 

And still we dream: 

As Plato dreamed 'neath Grecian skies, 
Sometimes with smiles, sometimes with sighs: 
Yet, visions vanish, phantom flies. 

And still we dream: 

While truth we love, nor right would spurn, 
Which way soe'er our eyes we turn,,. 
We still the same, same lesson learn: 
That life itself 's a dream. 



140 

And so we dream, 

Aye, ever dream, amid our smiles and tears. 
This one thing's plain, 'tis ever clear: 
That final truth is yond, — not here. 

We dream, still dream, conjecture, dream: 
A little here and there, we glean — 
Wheat mixed with tears still needing screen. 
Nay, truth lies still beyond life's scene. 

We dream, still dream: 

But yet we're feeble, far too small 
To lift from earth the shrouding pall ! 
Before we claim to know it all, 
We'll patient wait the curtain's fall. 

Nay while we dream: 

'Tis better far, we patient wait, 
Nor seek to solve the myths of Fate. 
In God's good time shall opening gate 
Of Heaven dispel all dreams. 

-ar-jC'-isrsjD.- 

Jf But TLhey Iknew 

'TTIS now the chilly twilight hour, 

When winds sigh pensive through the bower. 
As mists roll in with fading light 

I stand amid deep chasms wide, 
Without some hand, or voice to guide, — 
/ dread the deepening shades of night. 



141 

Who feels no warm, fraternal hand, 
Though in sequestered voiceless dell, 
Or mid earth's hive where millions dwell. 

He wanders as mid desert sands. 

I'm weary mid some haunted waste; 
My compass lost, my casket dry, 
My brain is tortured, phantoms fly, 

And ghouls about me stealthful haste. 

I place mine ear upon the ground 

And pray that footsteps may be near; 
But not a note of joy or fear, 

Only my heart-beats quick resound. 

And yet, I know, not far away, 

Unnumbered hearts, all beating warm, 
Would shield a wanderer from the storm — 

Would light his midnight into day. 

Ah, yes, indeed, if but they knew, 

How many hands would tender guide; 
From waters deep, from angry tide, 
Would help the weary journey through, — 

If but they knew. 

* ***** 

We know full well 'tis ebb of day; 
'Mid toweret crests no sunbeams play, 
And quickly falls the evening hour 
And wraps in silence dell and bower; 
Then mists roll in with hastening nighf 
And clouds o'erspread earth's vision bright. 



142 

Yet, yond where spheres are veiled in light, 
Beyond where phantoms cease their flight, 
There rests our hope, — there August Power 
Who cairns the dread of darkening hour; 
And He shall guide our steps aright 
Safe down the vale through shades of night. 

H>Ut£ 

7TH0U art the gleaming star mid blushing day; 

Not noon-day beam, not sun's effulgence bright, 
To chase away dark phantoms of the night, 
But that still, soft and gentle lighting ray, 
Which guides us safe through life's e'er tortuous way 
With inner whispers in the cause of right. 
Amid our doubts and dreads be still our light, 
Our faltering footsteps still with courage stay. 
As on we haste, life's journey swiftly run, 
Still be our trustful onward guiding star. 
And when our race with all its toils be done, 
May yet thy cheerful, brightly twinkling bar 
Beam still benignant mid life's deepening dun, 
And throw its radiance on to realms afar. 



•tstsjG^ar-jn. 







XTbe iRew leas 

YE, passeth away — forever away ; 

Nor a tear or a prayer, 
Time's footsteps may stay — 

Bearing forever 
Our lives on his way. 



143 

With our joys and our sorrows, 
Our sighs and our tears, 

Our strong life ambitions — 
Our hopes and our fears, 

In eternity's ocean 
Time buries his years. 

Ah, who shall recall — 

Turn backward his tread ? 

What power uplift 

Age's low drooping head, 

And rekindle those hopes 
Long buried and dead ? 

What power shall re-light, 

Old Age's dim eye, 
Bring a blush to the cheek 

Or a light to the sky 
So full of the shadow 

Of years hastened by ? 

What power to the heart 
Shall its solace restore ? 

Recall fond ambitions 
Now gone evermore ? 

Or brush from our life 
All the sins we deplore ? 

Aye, hopeful and prayerful 
'Long life's rugged trend, 

By the light which our faith 
So benignantly lends, 

We prayerful and hopeful, 
Our pathway will wend. 



144 

So, with incoming now 
Let the old year depart ; 

With its stains and the stings 
Of the sin-poisoned dart — 

With the pains and the pangs 
Of the oft bleeding heart. 

Aye, begone with the old, 
With the out-hastening year, 

All symphonies Fad, 

Which may full on mine ear, 

And rob the new year 
Of its hope and its cheer. 

Let ambition again 

Rekindle its fire 
And awaken to song 

Our long waiting lyre ; 
And to life, and new effort, 

The struggle inspire. 




145 

Xlbe poet's IRccompense 

(An ode in praise of the Muses; translated from Theocritus, and presented by 
a friend from Sutter Creek.) 

IT fits the Muse's tongue, the poet's pen, 

To praise th' immortal gods, and famous men : 
The Nine are deities, and gods resound, 
But bards are men, and sing of men renown'd. 
Yet who that lives beneath heaven's cope, regards 
The incense or the sacrifice of bards ? — 
Who opens now the hospitable door, 
And makes the Muses richer than before ? — 
Barefoot, unpaid, indignant, they return, 
Reproach their zeal, and unavailing mourn : 
To the dark chest their labors they consign, 
And on cold knees the languid head recline ; 
For none, alas ! the race of men among, 
Receives the bard, or hears his lofty song ; 
Men thirst not now for glory, as of old. 
But all their passions are confined to gold. 
Alas ! who values now the plauding lyre ? 
Who feels the patriot's — who, the hero's fire ? — 
There are no chieftains, as in ancient days, 
Who love the meed, and tremble for our praise ! — 
All — all the sordid ministers of gain 
Heed not the hollow tinkling of our strain ; 
Wiser to solid heaps of silver trust, 
Nor e'en impart an atom of its rust. — 

"Led by an alien's dreams let others roam — 
I care not — charity begins at home ! " 
With hand upon his breast, the miser cries, 

" Money is all I want — be others wise ! — 



140 



My humble prayer is only to be rich — 
Heaven will provide the poet with a niche : 
Beside, had I a wish for sterling sense, 
I've Homer and can read without expense." — 

What profit, wretched churls, can gold afford, 
Which thus in coffers ye abundant hoard ? — 
The wise a different use for riches know, 
And love on men of genius to bestow ; 
Part on themselves, to others part they spare, 
And some their friends, and some their kinsmen share; 
To every man their bounty shines display'd, 
And yet the offerings of the gods are paid. — 
With prudent hospitality they spend, 
And kindly greeting speed the parting friend. — 
But most the Muses' sons these honors claim, 
Whose deathless lays immortalize their fame ; 
Then will they never rove, inglorious shades, 
(Like those who living labor'd with their spades) 
Along cold Acheron's infernal river, 
And mourn hereditary want forever. — 
What though Alena's and the Syrian's domes 
Saw crowding menials fill their festal homes ; 
What though o'er Scopas' fields rich plenty flow'd, 
And herds innumerous through his valleys low'd ; 
What though the bountiful Creonda) drove 
Full many a beauteous flock through many a grove ; 
Yet when expiring life could charm no more, 
And their sad spirits sought the Stygian shore ; 
Their grandeur vanished with their vital breath, 
And riches could not follow them in death ! — 



147 

Lo, these, for many a rolling age, had lain 
In blank oblivion, with the vulgar train, 
Had not their bard, the mighty Ceian, strung 
His many-chorded harp, and sweetly sung 
In various tones each high-resounded name, 
And giv'n to long posterity their fame ! — 

Verse crown the race-horse with fair honor's meed, 
That in the field has signaliz'd his speed. — 
Who has the Lycian chiefs, and Trojan known, 
Or Cycnus, delicate with milk-white crown, 
Had not the bard delighted to rehearse 
Their bold achievements in heroic verse ? — 
Ulysses ne'er had endless glory gain'd, 
Though for ten tedious summers he sustain'd 
Unnumber'd toils, while he observant stray'd 
From clime to clime, and men and states survey'd ; 
Ev'n though he 'scap'd the Cyclops' gloomy cell, 
And quick descended to the realms of hell : 
Philcetius and Eumams with the dead 
Had lain as nameless as the beasts they fed ; 
And brave Laertes with his parting breath 
Had died, but Homer snatched their names from 
death. — 

Lo, while the spirit of the spendthrift heir 
Wings the rich stores amass'd by brooding care — 
While the dead miser's scattering treasures fly ; 
The Muse for Inch the generous man to die ! — 

Yet 'tis an easier task, when tempests roar, 
To count the waves that ceaseless lap.b the shore, 
'Tis easier far to bleach the Ethiop foul, 
Than turn the tenor of a miser's soul. — 



148 

Curse on the wretch that thus augments his store ! 

And much possessing, may he wish for more ! — 

I still prefer fair fame, with better sense, 

And, more than riches, men's benevolence. — 

And now, alas ! what guardian shall I choose, 

What princely chief to patronize my Muse ? 

In perilous paths the race of poet's rove, 

Dubious their fate, without the aid of Jove. — 

But still the sun rolls glorious in the skies ; 

And future victors in the race will rise : 

The chief will rise, who shall my numbers claim 

Equal to great JEachides in fame, 

Equal to Ajax on the Phrygian plains, 

Where Ilus' tomb near Simois' streams remains.- 

Ev'n now where Libya views the westering day, 

Phoenician armies shrink in pale dismay ! — 

For lo ! their spears the Syracusans wield, 

And bend the pliant sallow to a shield ; 

These Hiero leads, superior to the rest, 

And on his helmet nods the horse-hair crest. — 

Ye sister-maids, who love the stream that flows 
Where your first votary's breathing incense rose ; 
Here though in still suspense may sleep my lyre, 
Should no kind whisper wake the trembling wire- 
Yet, if a patron's voice invite the Muse, 
Shall my dull ear the soothing tone refuse ? — 
No — in your bowers forever may I dwell, 
And thus the heavy gloom of life dispel ? — 
Unblest by you, what charm can being give ? — 
With you, ye sister-maids be mine to live ! — 



149 

Urutb— Ube iRocfe 

77RUTH : behold the rock on which the Almighty 
builds, 

The universe creates, to its remotest bounds — 

Where spheres on spheres, eternal in their rounds, 
Hymn forth His glory and His thought fulfill ; 
Where rolling billows or the gurgling rill 

From mountain height to depth of sea profound, 

With voicing earth, in august hymns resound — 
Melodious sound, a diapason sweet, 

Of God, through nature, heard 'neath every sky. 
The holy ground, on which harmonious meet 

Angelic hosts, where man to God is nigh, 
Where earthly good, or hope of heaven, complete, 

Hush in eternal joy, the tear, the grief, the sigh. 



-tK^sv-or-vS}- 



© Mean? Soul 

1 I fHEN heart and strength, 

y*J And schemes of life shall fail, 

When fate thy home and hearth assail, 
Be not dismayed, dear friend, 

But look thee hence beyond the veil. 
There hopes immortal still shall burn 
Till earth to earth, and dust return. 

When morning light 

On weary eyelids falls, 
And duty, stern 

To earnest deeds shall call . 



150 

0, then, dear friend, 

On morning's freshening air 
Breathe forth thy soul 

In reverent, trustful prayer. 

Then let each hour 

Of every day declare 
Renewed vows 

Of morning's reverent prayer. 
If burdened heart, 

With grief shall frequent sigh, 
Or anxious thought, 

With tears shall dim thine eye, 
0, then bring soul 

To Him who rules on high. 

'Tis well, dear friend; 

For there above, aye, aye above, 

Forever dwells eternal love; 
Not that which quickens 

Only for a day 
And falls so soon 

To sin and quick decay; 
But love, which sure 

With every day shall live; 
A peace enduring, 

Which not earth can give; 
Yield rest and comfort, — 

Restful peace divine — 
While o'er your path 

Diurnal suns shall shine. 



151 

Xife 

f\H the weary, weary, wandering 

O'er the mount, and moor, and main ; 
O'er life's weary, dreary, desert wastes, 

'Neath its storms, and wind, and rain. 
But is life forsooth a failure ? Nay, 

Though so full of grief and pain. 

Oh the weary, weary, wandering 

Through the heedless thronging street, 

Where the God of Mammon rules all — 
Oh the rush of speeding feet ! — 

But the harvest still a failure all, 
Though we gather tares with wheat ? 

0, the weeping, weary, wandering 
For the friends we loved of old, 

Whose heart-beats then were loyal — 
But now have grown so cold 

In the ceaseless, ceaseless searching 
For the phantom toys of gold. 

But this cheerless, weary wandering, 

Thro' a weary, rugged world ! 
The fates seem unrelenting 

As we're onward, onward whirled ; 
But — shall we say all lives are failures 

When alone our flag is furled ? 

Nay, nay, amid our wanderings 
We run life's hurdled race ; -^ 

And some shall fall, then rise again 
To run with hastened pace. 



152 

Ah no, all's not a failure, 

Though we may lose the race. 

Oh dire and dreadful battle roar, 

Oh leaden rain and hail ! 
Oh, the wounds, the battle scars, 

Oh, the tears, the woe, and wail ! 

But though ten thousand stalwart men 

The ramparts vain assail, 
There may come other thousand men 

Who shall in the end prevail ! 

ftbe Question 

IS life but a dream? 

Thus too oft doth it seem 
But a misty mirage — an illusion. 

All the world seems a scene 
Of disguise, of deceit and delusion. 

E'en the joys which we deem 
To be real — are but gleams 
Unreal of some passing illusion. 

E'en that boon from above, 
Our emotions of love 

Not on earth find full fruition — 
Are oft but delicious delusion. 

E'en hope's oft a dream 
Of things never seen — 
A waiting for the fields elysian. 



153 

And the helping hand, 
O'er life's weary strand, 
Too oft is only a vision. 

And our heart burthening griefs, 
And our sighs for relief, 
They, too, are often unreal. 

And our sorrows which depress 
Do we borrow? — I confess 
Though to reason unfeal, 

The earth which we tread, 
And the heavens overspread, 
Hinge close on the realms ideal. 

But life's dreams all are brief ! 
Death comes for relief 
And the spell is quickly broken. 

* * * :••: -■■ * 

Is this dream all in vain? 
Or shall live we again? 
God grant some assuring token! 

IReflection 

Q MAY this truth, dear friend, 

In every hour of every day be thine: 
"To err is human, to forgive divine." 
Aye, when from loving heart of,thine 

All bitter hates are flung — 
Uprooted, all, are gone; 



When angry words 

No more esoape thy tongui — 
Uprooted from their depth, 

Those cankering foes are wrui 

No more were pierced 

That bleeding heart of thin< — 

Willi BOrrOWS crushed. 

With poignant memories stung. 
Aye I hen, dear friend, 

A peace and rest divine 

Shall dwell enduring 
In thai heart of thine. 

God Mess thee, then, dear friend) 

Beneath His loving eye 
lie soothed thy murmurings, 

I lush the grieving si^h; 

And on each morning air, 

Breathe forth to (iod 

A reverent, trustful prayer. 

■ 

Xooftino Dence 

1 1 1 E'RE ever looking hence, we scarce know why 

1 n eager quest tor more : 

"I'is naught we have which most, we prize, 
'Tis what we've not whioh cause our siu;hs. 

Toward joys still yet heyoud our sky, 
Toward them we gaze with wistful eye — 
We still look onward, hence, 
Oft without, reason, thought or sense, 

I it eager quest for more. 



156 

Around, Heaven's blessings ample, lie; 
Yet those o'erlooked, with anxious eye 
We gaze still onward, hence, and sigh, 

Still anxious, search for more. 
We're children, all, of larger growth; 

We're chasing toys from day to day; 
Too little heeding kind or worth, 
But gathered quick we cast away, 
Then speedy haste for more. 

H pbtlosopfocr 

[Cosmopolitan] 

LIE stood by the fence of a mountain ranch., 
/ A pitiful, sad-eyed burro ; 
There wasn't an edible leaf or branch, 
And the alkali ground 
For miles around 
Had never a sign of a furrow. 
" Ah me ! " he sighed, " I'm sad it's so, 

But life is an endless tussle ; 
They have let me go in the storm and snow, 
For they know I am used to rustle. 

" I can go a day on a sardine can, 
And two on a scrap of leather ; 
1 have lived a week on a Chinese fan, 
And it is plain 
That I sometimes gain 
On only a change of weather. 



156 

The lazy ones feed — on hay — indeed, 
But I, who have nerve and muscle — 

They say, ' He'll do, he'll worry through, 
He's a wonderful brute to rustle. 1 " 

sorrowful burro, thin and sad ! 

We feel to you like a brother ! 
With the human race it is just as bad ; 
For the tramp and shirk 
Must escape from work 

By the bountiful sweat of another. 
There are some that stand with glove in hand, 

In the infinite toil and bustle ; 
They sing and play, but have lots of hay — 

They have never learned to rustle. 



-TSr^av-arsjO' 



Mrtue 

\ ^IRTUE, indeed a heavenly flower, 

Of fragrance pure, of fairest bloom ; 
Yet oft with all thy beauties rare, 

Thou hast the chilling breath of tomb! 

Oft like the crystal gem of snow, 

With which proud Alpine summits glow 

From icy fount swift outward flow, 
And cool the sun-kissed vales below. 

Oft like the chiseled marble fair, 

Beneath the sculptor's skill ; 
And oft like it thou hast that air, 

Which doth from soul all impulse chill 
And leave the heart in blight — despair. 



157 

Too oft, indeed, like glistening wall 

Of towering iceberg mid the sea; 
We dare approach those glassy halls, 

Yet nearer reached, in awe we flee 
Ere yet the mystic fabric falls. 

While gentle as the vernal morn, 
Oft pale and pulseless as its beams ; 

Oft chilling as a shadow's gloom, 

Through which no beam of sunshine gleams ; 

As frosty as the breath of dawn. 

Give us the passion-flower and rose 

Amid their vines and treacherous thorns. 

Give us the warming sunlight glow, 
And then, if need, the wind and storm. 

We love the pure, and good, and true, 
And love the heart that's pure yet warm. 



tirsjc-'arHH^ 



s 



Beolectefc) wics 

OME men gaze heavenward, far away, 
For some grand duty to perform; 
While from their doors in wind and storm 
The poor unfed are turned each day. 

A million eyes will search the skies 
To find some light agleam afar, 

While nearer, far, than nearest star, 
Some struggling beam neglected dies. 

It scarce needs more than mortal ken 
To know where holiest duty liesf 

And who'd find welcome 'yond the skies, 
Must first love fellowmen. 



158 

Zhc ifoope 

1 I IHILE the dimming eye 

Still fainter sluill grow, 
And our flickering lamp 

Still lower shall glow, 
Life's faltering current 

Still feebler shall flow ; 

Ah, the gleaming of hope ! 

Like the beautiful bow, 
O'er the emerald vale, 

'Yond the summits of snow. 

And it brightens and freshens, 
And its tints are aglow 

O'er the River of Time 
In its on-winding flow. 

All, yes ; in the west 
Lo, the down-going sun 

'Neath a halo of glory ! 
But his journey's not run. 

So the beaming of hope — 
'Yond the mists and the dun. 

Lo, onward, still onward 
Triumphant shall roll, 

Still onward, ttill onward, 
In time's infinite scroll, 

The sun in his glory — 

So the undying soul : 
All glorious its journey, 

All heavenly the goal. 



159 

Sberman^iporter 

Z-HEY fall, they fall ! 

The honored chiefs throughout our land, 
Beloved most of patriot band. 

'T was well, when earth and time were young, 
That deeds of gods, not men, were sung, 
In every land by mortal tongue ; 
But now we deem it wise that men 
Our heroes sing with tongue or pen. 

Then honored dead again shall speak, 
And o'er our land shall grandly say : 
" Awake, O freemen ! Quickly seek 
Some younger hand to guide thy way." 

'Tis well, tis well ! — thus goes the world ; 
As Death's grim shafts are ruthless hurled, 
Some star must fall from heavens afar, 
But still shall gleam some newer star. 

We'll lowly bow uncovered head, 
And grateful honors pay the dead ; 
We'll tell their deeds — their virtues all — 
O'erspread with flowers the sombre pall. 

Be tongue and grateful pen, inspired, 
Tell who to glorious fame aspired. 
Encouraged thus, all o'er our land, 
Lo, riseth still some guiding hand. 

Roll on, nation's chariot, roll, 
While dead to living speak again • 

Emblazoned bright in honored scroll, 
To teach to live were not in vain. 



160 

XLo ©ur Questions Wbat IResponses Hie (Biven ? 

O HALL we seek of a star, whose trembling bar 

Has shown mid the heavens for ages? 
Shall we look still beyond in the distance far, 
Or scan over history's pages? 

ye patriots and worthies, ye sages of old! 

Ye wise of all climes and all ages! 
What e'er the curse of the greed of gold 

When the lust of the demon it engages? 

Nay, alas, nay; indeed, we have not the need, 

In onr query of wandering far; 
If the brighter light of right we'd heed, 

Lo, the gleams of a Bethlehem's star! 

" Do unto others," this the guiding star, 

All golden, bright gleaming and pure, 
In the universe round, or near, or afar, 

Shall its beaming forever endure. 

Let the peoples take warning in the morning's bright 
dawning, 

Nor wait for the shadows of night, 
Lest its guiding ray shall vanish away 

And withdraw forever its light. 




It.l 

Jnfancg 

Z7HE beaming heaven, o'er which the cloudlets fly, 

The landscape fair, o'er which swift shadows chase, 
While mingling sunbeams join the merry race. 
A gurgling fount, which tears distilled, a cry: — 
A rapturous joy, sweet blending with the sigh, 
Ere yet deceit or sinful blush deface, 
Or sorrows leave their ever deepening trace. 
The beauteous vale o'erspread with fragrant liloom, 
The golden blush o'er gilded mountain crest 
Ere yet the beaming, weary, sultry noon 
Glides darkly down beneath the clouding west. 
A laugh, a cry, a hope, too soon the sigh, 
And ere were yet life well begun. Ah, yes; 
A joy, a hope, of life the blessed boon: 
This, this, indeed is infancy. 

Mbere Hre Ube\?? 

II^HERE are the loved of other days?— 

Those darling myths of by-gone years — 
Are they but dust of long ago? 

And ours but memories sweet, and tears? 

Thus fade sweet flowerets! Thus we know 
That time keeps on its ebb and flow; 

Yet mid Elysium fancy plays — 
Or weal or woe, — 'tis ever so — 

We dream of loves of other days. 



162 

Where now the loves of other days? 

Whose memory sweet still lights and cheers? 
Gone as visions come and go — 

To leave us wait, with doubts and fears, 
Lest other joys we're yet to know, 

Shall vanish like sweet Iris' bow? 
Ah, fancies sweet of rose and bays! 

Ye wandering phantoms to and fro — 
The happy loves of other days. 

Where are the loves of other days? 

Who into past and future peers, 
To willing ears come whispers low, 

Regardless all of scoff or jeers. 
I 'lease tell us what of love you know: 

Is all a myth? But then, if so, 
Whence come love's sweet immortal lays, 

That heavenly hymn of hearts aglow? 
Ah, where the loved of other days? 

Thus storms may sough, and winds may blow 

In rueful rhyme or blitheful lays, 
Till heads shall frost, aye, white as snow, 

And yet we sigh of other days. 




T 



16J 



(peaceful Mttbtn 

HOUGH gloomy storm and angry wind 

Oft sweep beneath a darkened sky, 
Yet peaceful throbs the heart within. 



Oft shadows dark, like phantoms fly, 
And chilling winds, onsweeping, sigb, 
While tears unbidden dim the eye; 
Yet, trust in God, is peace within. 



O, the roaring winds, and the down-pouring rain; 
O'er glen and o'er valley; from mountain to main; 
In gusts and in torrents on roof and on pane, 
Pattering and spattering in gloomy refrain; 
Yes, 'tis stormy without, yet peaceful within. 

Let the winds still sigh; let the storm still roar; 
Let the ocean, unrestful, still beat on its shore; 
Let the Heavens from their chambers their torrents outpour; 
Yet, if soul is unchallenged, 'tis peaceful within. 

Ah, yes, 

Quite oft indeed 'tis stormy without, while peaceful within; 

For without are the conflicts of sorrow and sin; 

The battles of life, its confusion and din. 

As onward and onward quite resistless we're whirled, 
All around us, and about us, are banners unfurled 

Jn rueful confusion — mid life's discord and din; 

But our trust is in God, 'tis peaceful within. 







164 

"ttbose Xittle stocfeiitos" 

H, yes, they're there — mementoes sad as sweel ; 
And there unclad the little marble feet ! 
No more they'll chime in merry rhyme, 
In rain or shine, mid flower and vine. 

Nay, for his steps we'll sad and vainly wait 
From early morn till close of dewy gate, 
And mourn the untimely, cruel hand of fate. 

Dear feet now rest, their race is run ; 

Nor scarce had blushed life's morning sun 

Ere clouds o'erspread the day with dun. 

So hang the stockings on his vacant chair 
While still and cold the little feet, so fair — 
Nay, stay, 'tis but the beauteous image there,- 

The likeness; while the prattling little feet. 
Like merry phantoms o'er a landscape sweet, 
Ceaseless resound adown the Golden Street. 



'ar-«<x>r-j*> 



ffrienfcs anfc> tfoc3 

AH yes, thank God, we have friends; aye, many indeed, 
/ Like angels apoised on their silvery wings; 
And they bear us all benignly their word and their deeds, 
And they over our pathway the sunbeams fling. 

But foes, too, we have; and alas, not a few! 

Some come in their wrath, some enwreathed in smile, 
Some mid our pathway all hid from our view, 

A pit would out hollow in their hatred so vile. 



165 

Some treacherous come with their viperous fangs; 

Some come as bold as a lion from his lair. 

While some would flesh all recklessly tear, 
Others e'en our souls would fill with their pangs. 

But of all dread foes which ever we've known, 
In all life's long, long, lengthened out years, 

Are those which ourselves so willing enthrone; 
Alas, then worship, and with bitterest of tears. 

List, the pulex hath only the tiniest sting; 

For him we heed but indifferently care, 
But of viper, warm cherished in our bosom within, 

List, dear reader, list and beware! 



ti^-jc^arsjo- 



TLbc Silvery Ming 

("\FT in the stilly hours of night, 

Sad memories, dark as raven's wing, 
Come hence from buried years; 
Yet, others come like dawning light, 
And o'er our pillows sunbeams fling 
To chase away the tears. 

Let shadows be the guests of night, 
Like phantoms dark, speed, speed away 
With all their spectral fears; 
While hence on wings of golden light, 
Like blushes bright of dawning day, 
Good angels come from sunny sphere? . 



166 

Angel of love! Come be our guest; 
Above our pillow spread thy wing; 
With us thy vigils keep. 
When sun 'neath halo of the west, 
His shadow o'er our hearths shall fling, 
Let grief forever sleep. 

Love! Come spread thy silvery wing — 

Triumphant from the shades arise, 

And welcome dawning day. 

Drive back night's winter, haste the spring — 

Throw o'er our hearts thine happy skies, 

And stay with us for aye. 

-or-jsi-ai-jsi- 

Desertefc 

(A young, demented, uumarrled woman whs round in deep grief caressing 
a "wee gold ami blue" shoe, over a little mound tit Laurel Hill Cemetery, 
.-an Francisco.) 

7TIIE papers say 'twas gold and blue, 

That loved, caressed, dear little shoe, 
Whose wearer sleeps beneath the dew. 

Beside the little infant mound, 
A child in tears upon the ground, 
Kneels low, with furtive glance around. 

" My child," she murmurs, " this his shoe. 
Is it not sweet, my darling's shoe? 
My shame, my shame, alas 'tis true." 

Then to her breast the shoe she pressed, 

And kissed and kissed, and blessed and blessed, — 

With tears and sobs and sinhs caressed. 



167 

Deav little shoe of gold and blue! 
Hangs here a tale, alas, not new! 
A story of deceit and wrong, 
Of passion low, and vile as strong, 
Which lures to death, — the siren's song. 
Ah, cruel, painful, shameful deed ! 
All but a demon's heart must bleed, 
When passion on poor soul doth feed, 

And leave it blasted in its chains; 

It struggles, tortures, all in vain, 

To wash away the guilty stain. 

Let tears o'er cheeks in pity roll, 

While vesper bell shall sadly toll 

The knell of blighted heart and soul. 

Ah, pitying God, enthroned above, 

Behold the woes of guileless love; 

How many wings of wounded dove 

Await their healing from above! 

Alas, till then the soiled wing 

Trails still in dust; and still the sting 

Which wrongs of conscience surely bring. 

( Jo pity, still, the trampled flower, 

Fallen and faded 'neath its bower, 

But then, — 

Departed grace — Almighty Power 

In love and pity shall restore. 

For God's more merciful than mere- 
And those who fall, of right we know, 
May, by His grace, still rise again. 



168 

Softly ICenfcerlp 

(OAREFULLY, tenderly, thoughtful and kind, 

Lead poor papa, so deaf and so blind, 
With a tottering step and a bowed head; 
Watchfully, loving, should poor papa be led; 
Be carefully nursed and be faithfully fed, 
All softly be pillowed his bowed, silvered head. 

Once he was younger and mirthful like you; 
Once he was blitheful, when life was yet new. 
Once had the blush of a rose on his cheek, 
Once in the voice of his childhood could speak. 
Once he was youthful — in spirits aglee, 
Of sorrows and cares scarcely one had he; 
All sportive and free as the lamb on the lea, 
As a bird in flight o'er the bosom of sea. 
Ere the dreams and schemes of manhood had birth, 
How he sported his toys in an innocent mirth — 
He was then as you, mid the family hearth; 
Scarce a sorrow had he in all the wide earth. 

Every star was then gleaming in the blue vaulting sky, 

And his lips wore smiles which beamed in his eye — 

Never deep sorrow had burthened a sigh; 

Aye, his heart was as glad as it now is sad. 

But dimmed now those eyes and furrowed his brow! 

Alas how all changed are his life vistas now! — 

If backward the glance, lo, sorrow and sin! 

And if forward the gaze, how uncertain and dim ! 

Aye, lead father tenderly, thoughtful and kind, 
Through the perils of storm, through the whirlings of wind, 



169 

Filially, lovingly, holding his hand, 

For his journey draweth near to that far off land. 

s(s sjs j|s sjc. SJC Sj< 

Hence, hence, dear papa; life's ills we rnay mourn, 
By sad recollections our hearts may be torn; 
E'en in dust we may lie, may in sackcloth be clad, 
And the winds sigh on in a requiem sad; 
But ere long, dear papa, shall brighten thy sky, 
A hand all softly brush tears from thine eye, 
And a heart all loving shall solace thy sigh, 
And an ear all attentive shall list to thy cry. 

:£ ^ ^ ^c ;■< ^ 

When thy sun, o'erclouded, shall go down in the west, 
Then shall soft, tender hand kind lay thee to rest: 
Hence, hence, heavy heart, 'mong the loving and blest, 
May thy poor weary head find a motherly breast! 

Ube Uacant Cbair 

(In mernoriarn of Ex-Mayor George H. Sanderson of San Francisco) 

THE vacant, vacant chair — 
Where is he whose place was there? 
Ask of the sad, regretful tear; 

Silence answers, nay, not there. 
Ask of the shadows 'yond the bier; 
Echoes whisper sadly, "Where?" 
But the angels quick declare 
" Loved and honored, aye, he's here." 



170 

'■ Dust to dust" — aaught but his clay; 
Spirit seeks the heavenly goal, 
Heavenwards Hits in peaoe away; 

E'en while bell his knell shall toll, 
Seraphs ohant a joyous lay: 
" Peaoe, sweet peace, noble soul, 
Wake with us in endless day." 
Then let hells more joyful ring, 

Let their chimes waft o'er the sea. 
Though we symphonies may sing, 

Though the heart, afflicted, grieves, 
Let our hands meet offerings bring, 

Flowerets sweet and laurel leaves, 
Balmy as the breath of spring. 

Spirit from its bond hath Med, 

Throbs QO more the manly In-east. 

Pillow now his honored head, 
Tender fold his arms to rest. 

Lo, while tears in grief he shed, 
lie awakes among the blest. 

/ll>\? IRcltflion 

[ LOVE that religion which blesses mankind — 

To no dogma., nor to church, nor OOndition confined; 
Which bringeth LtS health like the wings of the wind. 
To BolaOS and comfort Loth body and mind; 

Which as time in its circuit life's pages unroll, 

Carries life to the heart, gives growth to the soul; 
With hope ever brightening on emblazoned scroll, 
Holds Heaven in its hands as the hoped for goal: 



171 

Which trusts not to speech ('tis but a breath), nor to 

creeds, 
(All worthless as the dust which the winds on-speed) 
But wliicii shelters the poor, and the hungering feeds 

Which promises salvation to Well ordered deeds. 

This niy religion; this is my faith; 

All else is deceitful, hut the goblin, or the wraith; 

Not a real, but a pretext of truth — hut a waif. 

Whoso hateth Ids brother, and loveth hut self; 
Whoso liveth hy avarice, by plunder and pelf; 
Whoso buildeth hy his scheming, hy his cunning and 

stealth; 
WhoSO prides not in virtue, hut loveth most wealth; 
Over such let the mantle of charity fall — 
Let forgotten oblivion he his merciful pall. 

But I SCOrn his religion--! would brand it. with shame! 
I would scoff at such hypocrite; him a fraud would pro- 
claim; 
A- a man (less a Christian) unworthy of fame — 
Hut, I hless the true Christian whatever hie name. 
' Yond the valley of death, 'yond the veil of the tomb, 

Heuce on, faithful toiler, lo, I leaven is thin': home ! 
And may God mid his angels lor an angel make room, 

While oblivion for the hypocrite l"' his merited dooi 




172 



SSutlfc jfirm 

(To a young, ambitious friend) 

r^UILD firm, young friend; build firm; 

If still the lamp of wisdom burns — build firm. 

And if I were the architect 

Or of thy fortune, or thy fame, 
I'd order that you well protect 

From storms which sweep the land and main. 

Upon the firm, unyielding rock, 

Build firm in trenches wide and deep; 

Then, shall your ramparts whirlwinds mock, 
While time shall yet for ages sleep. 

Care not turrets kiss the sky, 

Upleaping from a towering dome: 
Lo, monarch of the forest lie 

In wreck upon the unshaken stone. 

Build that thy temple proud shall stand 
When storms sweep up from angry main; 

Build not that hence mid wastes of sand, 
Thy ruins lie unknown of fame. 

Lo, " Rock of Ages " " cleft for thee," 

Upon it lay the corner-stone; 
And then shall storms of land or sea 

In vain assault thy home, thy throne. 

That Rock is God; and He hath willed 

We gain our wisdom from above; 
That we, His creatures, firm shall build 

In sacred justice, truth and love. 



1?:: 

ibatl, Ibeavenlg zututfo 

' ZTIS sad when hopes like fleeting phantoms fly; 

Or flowerets like all crushed and withering lie, 
No more in beauty's realm to vie; 

'Tis sad that floral shaft, with toil and patience wrought, 
Recalls some ever sweet, yet e'er escaping thought, 

And then itself shall die. 
lint dried he tear and hushed be sigh, 

What joyous thought, and sweet were this. 
How beams it forth from heavenly sky — 

Sweet foretaste of eternal bliss: 
Omniscient rule, all kind and good, 
Man's highest weal right understood. 
Though hopes may fade, like flesh to dust. 
Still, God's eternal, loving, just. 
This truth the one bright beaming star, 
To light all wanderers from afar. 
Hail, glorious beam, mid heaven agleam, 

<)h, blessed truth still brighter shine! 

Eternal, cheering, sweet, divine — 

Tins heavenly truth I clasp, 'tis mine. 



V ^' '*.' jt. 



Ube Uwo fl>atbs 

(TO my boy friend i 

r*"I FB hath two paths, my son, you see: 
One winds amid a flowery lea; 

The other climbs steep mountain heights. 
One way is broad, inviting, wide; 
The other oft the brambles hide; 

This oft the noon-beams faintly light. 



174 

But these two ways which never meet, 
Are worn by myriads busy feet; 

Aye, more, by fur, mid flowery way 
Chase butterflies and phantom toys, 
And scorn life's more substantial joys, 
And throw its precious hours away in chasing toys. 

The few who tread the toilsome way, 
They gather strength from toil each day 

As up the mountain steeps they glide; 
Within these burns that noble flame 
Which leads to fortune and to fame. 

Not so who tread where dangers hide, 

Who walk the wooing pathway wide. 

And so when heard the signal gun, 
And day is done, and shadows come, 

The few on glory's heights serene 
Unpallied view the seething tide, 
Where ends that treacherous pathway wide — 

Where hopeless ruin reigns supreme. 

God bless thee, son, thy footsteps stay 
Along life's oft uneven way. 

Nor may thine honest hands recoil 

From duties stern which Heaven demands, 
Or which a conscience clear commands. 

If need shall be, go, till the soil, 

Or patient burn the midnight oil; 
Toward heavenly heights thus lead the way. 




175 

alone 

f\ MY God, what more alone, 

n all earth what more alone, 
Than heart of flesh, not of a stone, 
Throbbing, hungering, all alone! 

Where, O where, in all the earth, — 
Where, where, more dreary hearth, 
Than the home with no love there, — 
Nothing but its dread despair? 

When the lamp of love low burning, 
Final flickers, fades, expires; 

When from love to hate now turning 
Passion lights its lurid fires. 

Better then that heart were stone, 
Than consumed by loathsome lust, 

Better dwelleth love alone, 
Till one's flesh is naught but dust. 



■V „-»■.. or „-r 



jEarlp Xov>e 

''TIS not well that she early awake, 
I Too early arouse with the dawning of light, 
Lest like blush of the day she passeth away, 
And leaves in her stead the shadows of night. 

Too early the flower may smile in her bloom, 
Awaken too early with dawning of day; 

But her beauty then fades ere yet it is noon, 
And her petals then fall, so quick to decay. 



176 

It is bettor pure love in the bosom shall sleep 
Securely in the bosom of innocence Bweet, 

Till some angel shall awake her, and vigil shall keep, 
Till her heart and her passion are pure ami complete. 

Fruits ripening too early, too early shall fall, 
Blighted and withered fall sad to the ground: 

A premature birth scarce needeth the pall, 

For sorrow with the shroud shall wrap it around. 

XTbe IRose anfc Bag 

All yes, dear M., good, noble soul and true, 
/ While angels o'er us loving vigils keep, 

Tis sin if we all doubting, faithless, weep. 
Nay, nay, 'tis better far that I and you 
All reassured, shall brave life's battles through. 

When storms are raging o'er the troubled deep, 

And billows tossing high, tumultuous sweep, 
And wreck and ruin o'er dark waters strew, 
Ah, then, dear M., if we but list, we hear 

Above all discord, (dash and din, "peace, peace": 
Aye, " peace be still " — a voice, all calm and clear, 

Doth bid the billows hush, the winds to cease: 
Doth fill the heavens with light, and love, and cheer; 

Pill hearts with hope and give a sweet surcease. 



m 



177 

Melcome to lpresioent Ibarrison 

On the occasion of his arrival in San Diego, April 23d, 1891 

V>ATL to the chief — our uncrowned king! 
/ All homage due, we freemen bring; 
Let cannon roar, let bells outring, 
While we before his footsteps fling 
Sweet flowerets of our land. 

From towering Shasta's cloudy crest 

To fair Diego's land, 
From yon Sierra's snowy breast 

To broad Pacific strand, 
All hail our Nation's chief. 

Not he a conquering hero comes, 

With helmet, sword and shield, 
Mid clang of arms and beating drums, 

Through lurid crimson field, 
But as Columbia's chosen son; 

We then all reverence yield, 
Our nation's honored chief. 

honored guest from East afar, 

O'er mount and weary plain, 
Find here beneath the setting star 

Warm beating hearts again. 

Be gladsome song in praise of thee, 

And welcome's beaming eye, 
From North and South, from sea to sea 

Beneath our sunny sky. 



178 

As onward rolls thy car in state 
Throughout our fruitful land. 

From Silver Gate to Golden Gate 
Proud freemen grasp thy hand. 

O honored guest of Golden West, 

Amid our festive boards, 
In modest mien, 'neath victor's crest 

Ensheathed be burnished sword; 
Let here indeed ambition rest, 

Be peace complete restored. 

Lo, here upon far western strand 

We cheer the patriot's way; 

Grasp here we all fraternal hand 

" And hail the blue and gray." 

Peace here our motto, right our aim, 

Beneath one flag unfurled; 
Mid busy mart or mount or main 

Fraternal hail the world. 

We're sovereigns each and freemen all, 

From every land afar; 
We know no North, we know no South, 

No flag but stripes and stars. 

As brothers all, as patriots then, 
All scorned were private grief; 

While bells be rung, with tongue and pen 
We hail our Nation's Chief. 

Come view our land — 
Of all thy realms supremely blest; 



179 

On every hand O honored guest, 

Lo, pine and palm, with branch entwined, 
Beneath which Pan and Ceres shrined, 

Salute our peaceful sea. 

Lo, land of corn and oil and wine, 
Where flowerets blush from every clime 

Mid mount and glen and lea; 

Where health or wealth true welcome find 

On every hand; and near or far, 

Mid glen or glade, or mount or plain, 
O'er land or sea, heard glad refrain: 
" Hail, hail our Nation's Chief, 
All hail the stripes and stars." 

TLhc Coming of tfoe Ikings 

C\ TIME and a time, and again a time, — 
I Time for traffic and time for rhyme: 
It is raw Maroh of the market, now; 
But, by and by, the song in the bough. 

Tried are the thews that steady the wheel 
Slowly rolled at the shopman's heel; 
A god's good shoulder, a god's great heart, 
Is braced for the turn that topples the mart. 

High over the hammers, the clack of the mills, 
Witching murmurs begin in the hills; 
There's flutt'ring of purple straight toward the town, — 
The kings of the earth come singing down. 

John Vance Chenky 



180 

XTwo Ibearts 3n ©ne 

f\F all the things transcendent, beauteous, blest, 
Which earth's or heavenly eyes in joy arrest, 
Two wedded hearts fore'er in love at rest ! 

Indeed to such doth heavenly halo fling 

A soft celestial beam, and angels bring 

Heaven's choicest treasures on their speeding wing ; 
And by their songs, and happy smiles attest, 
Whom God and man hath thus adjoined and blest, 
Content may wait on love's supreme behest. 

loving hearts ! the boon of heaven, to be 

Already yours, amid life's troubled sea; 

While yours its joys, life hath few ills for thee. 
All confident amid life's storm await, 
And with your wand direct the tide of fate, 
Till Heaven benignant opes the Golden Gate, 
And calls in love for thee. 

5atui'&a\> IFUobt 

IT is Saturday night. 

Lo, the sun in the west goeth down to his rest; 
In majesty, peacefully sinking to rest — 
'Neath the crimson and dun his journey is run. 
Now the shadow of night — 

It is Saturday night. 
The day is done, and the week is gone; 
And the shadows have come, and the curtains are drawn, 

And the lamps are alight — 



181 

It is Saturday night. 
A click 'neath the dial in its unceasing chime, 
A stroke of the lyre of on-marching time 

In his on-hastening flight — 

It is Saturday night. 
A few more rests in the measure of time, 
A few more beats in his pulsating rhyme, 
And our day is done, and our journey is run. 

Then lo, in the west, all peaceful to rest, 
Our down-going sun 'neath the crimson and dun, 

Mid the shadows of night — 

It is Saturday night. 
Now conscience at rest, hail ! specters of night ! 
All conscious of right will repose in its might — 
Wait content the " awaking " when the angels of light 
Shall fill all the heavens with the beams of delight; 

And we cheerful adieu to Saturday night. 




182 

palo Hlto 

THOUGH wealth were vast it might be vain 
To bring enduring love with fame; 
For fame — fame — 'twere oft a fitful flame. 
E'en bronze and marble shall decay, 
'Neath touch of time shall fade away; 
Not so the love, unshrined name. 

THE CRYPT 

beauteous rest for youthful head, 

Where charms of art and nature wed, 

And in thy presence soft I tread. 

sacred shrine, where love doth twine 
In memories sweet 'neath flower and vine; 
And here let waving branches chime 

In gentle whispers o'er the dead. 

We linger here, — ah, nay, not weep 

Where angels loving vigils keep 

Above the mound of those who sleep. 
Nay, rather would we glad rejoice, 
In praise lift up our feeble voice, 

And join the heavenly chorus meet. 

gentle heart, so sweet, so pure! 

Here pangs and pains no more endure. 

Nay, hence, in heavenlier realms secure — 
Here sleeps but dust; the unsullied soul 
Beyond life's ills, 'yond death's control, 
In heaven hath found the fitting goal — 

A balm life's griefs and wounds to cure. 



183 

O whisper winds through palm and pine; 

Re-echoing down the shores of time, 

Give voice to Him of love divine. 

Throughout the onward speeding years 
Let dews distil sweet memory's tears, 
And love uplight death's misty night 

Till sun eternal shine. 

And yonder, lo, in love doth vie, 
In love to speak as years go by, 
Proud columns pointing toward the sky. 
When time life's battle roll shall call, 
And o'er our clay lies sombre pall, 
(So soon, so soon, resistless falls) 
Love whispers, then, without a sigh. 



TLbc JSacbclov's plaint 

ALAS, alas, who'd marry me? 
/ (Ashamed am I? Nay, nay, I'm not.) 
And share with me beneath the trees 
My little, humble, rustic cot? 

There speed away the hours of day 
In wholesome, honest, frugal toil? 

When shades of night o'er landscape lay, 
Then patient burn the midnight oil; 

Where flaxen heads have found their beds, 

And holy angels vigils keep; 
Where love and labor willing wed, 

And toil both frugal harvest reap! 



184 

Ah love, pure love! 
Indeed, how wondrous are thy charms! 

How bless'd and holy is thy breast! 
Lo, in thy warm embracing arms, 

There, there alone, I know is rest. 

But I'm not young, nor am I fair; 

And yet can love, my coyful miss; 
My heart is warm as sunbeams are — 

I would my own could pure lips kiss. 

But yet, in this our modern day, 
Most maidens cast suspicious eyes — 

On labor look, then turn away; 
They'd rather lonely love and sigh. 

Deaf anfc /n>ute 

(Sonnet) 

SILENT I stand amid life's flow and ebb, 
And gaze bewildered on its restless swirl. 
Indeed, my palsied senses daze and whirl 
Amid the maze of life's entangled web; 
In cautious fears by timid step I tread. 
While others proud life's gleaming flag unfurl, 
I stand aside, a sullen, moody churl, 
And murmur that my earthly joys are fled. 
But thanks go up that music of the spheres 
Throughout the realms of happy earth and skies, 
Sweetly re-echo through my deafened ears, 
And hush and soothe the murmurs and the sighs; 
Drive quick away the useless rising tears, 
And make me joyous that I'm blessed with eyes. 



185 

(These very fine, iittle poems are from the pen of my noble personal 
friend, the Honorable Nestor A. Young of San Diego,— beautiful, sympathetic 
voicings; they come like re-echoed symphonies of the sentiments of my own 
mind and heart.— J. C. P.) 

Ibopes ant) jfears 

ZTHE hopes of man are prophesies benign, 

His fears, gaunt spectres that arise 
From superstitions old, and minds diseased. 
Companion of the dawn-light Hope's bright smile, 
Illumes the world with light transcendent, 
Along her roseate path love's perfumes, 
In dewy fragrance kiss the rosy morn. 
Mantled in superstition's shroud, Fear dwells, 
Where pallid death flowers fade, and with 
Their withering mock the grave they would adorn. 
Hope smiles on man, as does the early dawn 
In radiance on the waking world, 
While Fear, in sombre shades groans through 
The midnight of a life of pain. 
Beneath the debris of the musty past, 
Fear buries genius, and with dwarfing fetters 
Binds the mind, assassinates the soul. 
The man who dwells amid his fears, 
Plays the sad prelude of his fate. 
All brave souls hope, the weak despair, 
And die forgotten in the " Giant's lair." 
True hopes are inspirations, that do grow 
Within pure hearts, where flowers immortal blow; 
And hopes are truths, divinely fair they shine 
Refulgent from th' eternal source divine. 
Upon the mountain top mid seraph forms, 



186 

Hope stands, triumphantly outriding storms; 

Chanting her revelation to the soul, 

Leading it upward to the goal. 

Follow her paths, assured she'll be 

The pilot of thy soul's great destiny. 

Brightly she'll cheer thy waning years, 

And lead to upper choral spheres. 

On honor's scroll she'll write thy name, 

Mid purpled halos of immortal fame. 

Ay! woo Hope, and thy mind shall be 

A mirror, like a crystal sea, 

Reflecting thoughts far reaching and sublime, 

Which, passing down the paths of time, 

Thrilling thy soul with heavenly fire, 

The coming millions shall inspire. 



Nestor A. Young 



>.- * 



1bope 

(Inscribed to J. C. Pelton) 

H! Hope divine, sweet pilot of our destiny — 
Thou art the inspiration that doth lead 
Mankind to thoughts and deeds sublime; 
Or standing on the sentried heights of time, 
Above all storms, beyond all doubts and fears, 
Thy face aglow with heavenly fire, 
Doth sweetly chant in grand harmonic flow, 
Attuned to arch-angelic symphony, 
Soul-stirring themes — seraphic dreams — 

ling where Heaven's eternal splendors glow. 

Nestor A. Young 



187 

Ikiss TLbcm Bwa^ 

/\UR darling, she laughs, as all babies do, 

And like babies all, she frets and she cries; 
Yes, out come the tears from her dear little eyes, 
And they trickle like pearls, sweet dripples of dew: 
Some little grief undoubtedly speak, 
As they trickle and glisten on her dear little cheek. 

But we wipe them and kiss them so quickly away; 
And the smiles come back as sweet as before, 
And the teardrops glisten and trickle no more — 

They vanish like the mist 'neath the blushes of day! 
Ah, the picture, how blissful, an innocent's sleep, 
And its smile is of Heaven, where love is complete! 

God grant some hand soft brush them away, — 

Lovingly, tenderly, the trickling tears 

When they burst o'er her cheek deep furrowed by years. 
Oh, then may be some lullaby, some sweet whispered lay, 

And a pillow as soft as the motherly breast, 

Give her head, then weary, their comfort and rest. 

Dear, © 1bear 

OORD, in thy temple would we dwell, 

Would worship 'neath its sacred dome; 
For here, amid life's mystic spell, 
There's safety only near Thy throne. 

We know, amid life's hurried race, 

Through mazes dark, through treacherous sands, 
We need Thy power to guide our pace, — 

We need Thy safely guiding hand. 



188 

For we're so weak, so deaf and blind, 
Without Thy care we lose our way; 

For swept by ruthless storm and wind, 
We'd wander, wander far astray. 

We know amid the darkening night, 
We need thy gently beaming star — 

Thy safely gleaming beacon light — 
To guide us homeward from afar. 

God, who rul'st in realms above, 
Though we're unfit to lisp thy name, 

Aye, all unworthy of Thy love, 
Yet may we not Thy mercy claim? 

Still, still beneath omniscient eye 

Are we Thy children? Still shall be, 

Though we for ages buried lie 
Beneath the unresponding sea? 

Aye, still the creatures, Lord, of thee, 

Amid Thy universe so fair? 
Then to Thy refuge will we flee. 
Hear, hear, God, hear our prayer! 

0, keep us 'neath Thy loving care, 
And final lead us home to Thee. 




189 

(The three following beautiful little poems come to me like grateful 
symphonies, on the wings of the wind, from the blue, fir-clad hills in the 
far northwest of Maine, with which my boyhood feet— generally unshod— 
were very familar, and they are well remembered still.) 

H (Question 

f OD can save all, yet all he will not save, 

^ God would save all, yet all he cannot save, 

God can save all, and will. 

One of these dicta underlies each creed; 
Man rests on one in time of sorest need — 

Which will God's plan fulfill? 

Mtnter /IIMCmiobt 

NOW Janus from his pallid midnight throne 
Looks on a sleeping world 'neath starry eyes, 
Where o'er the spruce-fringed mount the white cloud flies, 
Where frozen maples wave their arms and moan 
To silent fields beside the wayside lone, 

Which scarce is seen beneath the steel-blue skies. 

Like horseback rider, 'gainst the hill leans prone 
The storm-racked pine, and dreams of torrid zone. 
'Tis thus I dream full oft in wayward song 
Which dances incoherent through my brain, 
And sends to eyelids tears born in the heart. 
Which knows its grief is useless — almost wrong 
To dream o'er that which ne'er will come again; 
But still I sing, and dream — to cure pain's smart. 



11)0 



Ubou Bvergwbere 

THY presence sweet unseen doth go 
'Neath suns which shine, or stars which glow, 
And though I may be tempest-tossed, 
Or on earth's outer verge be lost — 
Thy presence sweet is there, I know. 

The clock-chime strikes its midnight blow, 
The half-grown moon is swinging low 
Where first I felt long years ago 
Thy presence sweet. 

The world's fret runs with ceaseless How, 
It knoweth nothing! I bestow 
This hour to thee, nor count it lost — 
Though wrenched from life, sweet were its cost — 
It gives the sweetest thought I know: 
Thy presence sweet. 
Phillips, Mc. D. F. Hodges 

/ll>\? picture 

r\V all the pictures which hath art 

With utmost skill produced, 
There's none, of all, so fills my heart 
As baby at the breast. 

( )f all creations yet of brush 

Beloved in every age and clime, 
There's none more sweetly whispers " hush " 

Than babe in dreams, divine. 



191 

Of all those joys which camera's power 

Hath caught from beams above, from realm divine, 
Ne'er brought to view more beauteous flower 

Than babe at breast — that babe of mine. 

Of all the themes which heart and soul, 

Or utmost reach of thought sublime, 
Hath brought within the poet's goal 

There's none more golden, sweet, than mine. 

Of all the lovely things above 

By saints and poets sung, — sublime, 
Nought more suggests the heavenly love 

Than babe at rest — divine ! 



ts^jrx-'^r jr 



©U£ Xot 

TO toil and to delve — aye, this is our lot — 
In a hard rock soil for the livelong day; 
If we murmur and rebel it mattereth not, 

For the world moves on, and it hears not our lay. 

Aye, useless to complain; we've nothing to gain 
By crying and sighing in a sorrowful way; 

And the more we worry in our unyielding chain, 
The keener its pangs, more lengthened the day. 

Nay, 'tis better to submit in the cheerfulest way. 

When compelled to endure the sore chastening rod; 
For the more we resist, the more we display 

The weakness of flesh, and the wisdom of God. 
Tis discipline most which the child doth need; 

To the strong and the brave no need of the rod; 
And the wise well know, from folly to lead, 

Are affliction and endurance— these the wisdom of God. 



19a 

/h>v Cboicc. Hnawer Co "Cwimuu" 

i I 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 M llloi I 

r\i<:.\i; Wendi 

I love your §oft :in<l | [lent twilighl " hour, 

Your balmy breath of shrub and vine and iiou 
if our mystic spoil o'er forest, glade and bower, 
Your deepening dun o'er mounl and gorge and dell, 
Where elflns roam and spritely fairies dwell. 

\n'i \ ci , i ill moonbeams gild the eastern sky, 
Ami bwinklin era heavenly arohes high, 

i breathe o burdened, half unwilling sigh 
Vis . more, I love the brightly beaming morn. 
When mists depart, and sunbeams ohase the storm j 

When nature's hearl doth throb with new delight, 

When phantoms S] d before her blushing Light, 

\n<l bid adieu, to seek the shades of night 
'Neath twilight's mantle we half blindly grope; 
Kwi morning tighl gives life and oheer, and hope. 

Some «i.i\ . «r trust, along I he oourse of time, 

Both you and I shall hear heaven's morning ohime, 

And see the sunbeams bathe the throne divine. 

Till then, dear friend, be this our oonstanl prayer 

Thai fate beneath our feel shall Bpring no treaoheroui snare 



•^'^•V\^^?V^>'-*- 



,** 



L98 

[Neither the tongue doi the pen can be more wisely and meritoriously 
employed than In eulogising the names and the deeds of the truly good; 
those whose Lives are full of beneficent deeds of "good will i«> man" — 
extended especially to the poor, the needy and deserving. (See poems on 
other pages, oommemoratlve of the careers <>i several noble h«>u1m now 
"dead unci gone.") The lives of such throw Sunbeams upon the dark 
Shadows of iii<', encourage humanity to higher purposes and boiler aims. I 

/id vs. HJavffc ibcwcs 

(Me Anna Maria Lathrop, Of Alhany, N. V.) 
(IN mkmokiam.) 

fl WAY, "away ; 

/ Released from fettering bonds of clay, 

Eer spirit Hits in joy away, 

And we are left in tears to-day. 

To eyes which now in death do close, 

Above lo, heavenly scenes disclose ; 

Her ears which heard the orphan's sigh, 
Now list sweet chimes beyond the sky. 

Her heart which ever throbbed so warm, 
Is now beyond earth's chilly storm ; 

Those lips which whispered tenderest love, 

Now lisp the chorus sweet above. 

But cheeks of marble, white as snow, 
Shall blush again in heavenly glow : 
Up from the shades, 'neath sunbeam bright, 

She wakes where day shall know no night. 

While now around her waiting bier 
In sorrow falls the loving tear — 

We linger o'er her dust and weep, 

Angels of love their vigils keep. 

He ****** 

Thus ebbs out life — its curtains fall — 
God help us each, who loved in life 
The child, the maiden fair, and wife, 

That we, too, heed the needy 's call. 



194 



And though entombed shall flesh decay, 
Despite restraining powers of art, 
Her memory fresh in loving heart, 
Shall warmer glow from day to day 
To soothe and cheer our grief away. 



-tJrsaXSTNJO' 



B Bream 



(Written upon the Capitol steps while waiting for my friend, Hou. Nestor 
\. Young, February 20, 1893.) 

[ DREAM sweet dreams of happy realm, 

Sometimes e'en see the golden throne 
Bathed in the halos bright of heaven; 
And yet o'er me dark shadows 'whelm. 
Amid the which I stand alone; 
In mystic darkness quite alone. 

I have no church, I have no creed 

To soothe my heart, give strength to hand: 

On hope and trust alone I feed; 

These are my staff; by these I stand. 

I would, indeed, that brighter ray 
From far off sphere would light my path; 
Yet dare I hope some time, some way, 
I'll share God's mercy, not His wrath. 

Ah, blessed Hope! Thee do I woo 
Through all life's dubious journey through. 
Be thou my buckler, shield, I pray; 
No longer then mid darkened way, 

I'll grope alone, 
But find in spheres of endless day, 

My rest, my home. 



195 

flfers. aeorae 1b. Bucfe 

(Me Elizabeth King.) 
(Iu Memoriam. Died March 3, 1893.) 

DENEATH Thy hand, mysterious Power, 

We bow in grief this saddened hour, 
And yield to Thee our precious flower. 

Sweet, beauteous bloom, how soon to fade; 
Ere icy hand of death were stayed, 
Our fondest hopes entombed were laid. 

The morn, how bright — no cloud appears, 
The smile of Heaven lends light and cheers; 
But ere 'twere mid-day, — naught but tears. 

A star sweet gleams amid the skies; 
Behold her smile, her beaming eyes; 
But hush, she falls; she fades, she dies. 

Ah, loved and lost! How soon! how soon! 
The paling cheek, the blighted bloom; 
The shroud, the bier, the waiting tomb. 

We know the angels vigils keep 

O'er our beloved in peaceful sleep; 

But ah! our hearts, the wound — how deep! 

Ah! life, we know, 'tis but a dawn, — 
A sunbeam glow, the blush of morn, — 
A smile, a tear, and then — 'tis gone. 

Ah, Death! our friend in deep disguise; 
He brings us sorrow, tears and sighs, 
And then leads hence beyond the skies. 

Help us, Power, august, sublime, 
To patient wait swift ebb of time, 
Till hearts again in love shall twine 
In endless day, in realms divine. 



196 

(I am conscious of doing my little world good service in calling attention 
to and eulogizing the generous heart and kindly helping hand.— the author.) 

/n>rs. Theresa ffatr 

(In Memoriam.) 

THAT love-lit face; that modest mien; 
That warmly throbbing heart; 
That spotless life, in truth agleam, 
Defies the powers of art. 

We linger in thy praise, pure soul; 

With tears bedew thy clay; 
We wreath thy name mid honored scroll; 

With blessings light thy way. 

We bless the heart and ready hand 

At the ever open door, 
Which strews with flowers life's weary way, 

And feeds the hungering poor. 

Behold in visions sweet of Heaven 

Belov'd amid the blest, 
Where highest seat to soul is given, 

Who serves on earth the best! 

^ :|< i\: %. ^ :ji 

Behold agleam, in arching sky, 

A star mid glowing west; 
But while she holds the loving eye, 

She sinks in peace to rest. 

Too soon that gentle, beauteous star 

Withdraws her genial gleam; 
Too soon, indeed, she speeds afar 

Mid holier realms to beam. 

Bless God, as such shall cease to shine, 

Be dimmed their guiding light, 
If others still by will Divine 

Shall cheer terrestrial night. 



197 

When night in restful drapery falls 
She veils not earth with gloom; 

So death in gloomy tones but calls 
To glory 'yond the tomb. 

beauteous star, in realms afar, 
Beam forth in rays divine: 

Let shadows fly from heavenly sky,- 
Eternal glory thine. 



'C»rs*o^orsj<> 



Weooeo, not fl&arrieo 

(R. and B.) 

THEY loved, how true, with love complete! 
They worshiped at each other's feet; 
Their love was life; and life was sweet. 

Mated? Ah yes — in soul and mind; 
Love in each heart found sacred shrine — 
The rose and violet sweet entwined. 

Wedded, these souls? Who fit reply: 
But rising tear, and murmuring sigh 
Respond, "Ah yes — beyond the sky." 

There shall unfading love, sublime, 
(Not earthly, but all pure, divine) 
In heavenly realm eternal shine. 

Pure love of heaven, of holy birth, 

To angels known, — too good for earth — 

Not oft illumes the earthly hearth. 

But when to dust shall dust return, 
The spirit free from mouldering urn, 
Then love re-lit for aye shall burn. 



198 

Ah then, my friend, be love divine, 
Beyond the fretted shores of time, — 
Be this the boon of thee and thine. 

Forbear, lifted hand of Fate, 
Ye Powers of ill, of cruel hate; 
Soon God shall ope the heavenly gate 
For souls who love, resigned, await. 

(The following sentiments (not new, but true) are kindly contributed by 
my old and esteemed, and most worthy friend, Dr. H. D. Cogswell, whose 
many munificent benefactions and charities well entitle him to " honor " and 
the " crown.") 

Hn Ibonest flfean 

THE generous hearts who aid mankind. 
Are scarce as gold; are hard to find. 

But they shall wear the golden crown, 
Who give the poor a lift when down. 

H. D. C. 

LjONOR to him who hath complete, alone, 
J Carved to the grave one pathway all his own, 
Asks of his soul, if doubtful of the way, 
Heeding not what man may think or say. 

H. D. C. 

[ love to do honor to an honest man, 

One who is a man, whatever be his fate, 
State or condition. 

On giddy heights of wealth or fame 
By fortune blest, or fates in chain, 
In street, or mart, or church, or state, 
In robes, or rags — whate'er his fate: 
An honest man is still a man, 
Whate'er his country, kin, or name. 

J. C. P. 



eKppeniLix J\ 



^j^ HEN the heroic deeds of the illustrious are related 
\JTM it is usual to refer back to early life and its 
* achievements, following up name, fame and illus- 

trious and meritorious deeds. With the humble and in- 
conspicuous this would seem vain, if not presumptuous, 
yet I will dare to relate of myself in this connection that 
I was cradled in poverty, and early inured to all the toil 
and the suffering of unprovided orphanage, and an almost 
friendless boyhood in Madrid, Phillips, New Sharon, and 
Farmington, Franklin County, Maine.* 

It was in this manner among the poor and honest 
yeomanry of north-west New England that I learned 
the value of a free Common School education ; learned 
to love its beneficence, its welcome roof, its oppor- 
tunities and pleasant associations. The very words 
" Public School " even then gave my heart a glow of 
grateful pleasure. When I passed one of these institu- 
tions at the country road "corners," or elsewhere, I 
tarried with feelings of delight in my heart ; I listened 
to school recitations, and to the teacher's instruction 
with sympathy and love both for teacher and the 
pupils ; and this early led me to a life ambition to 
become a teacher myself. Through the hardest ex- 
perience, the most severe struggle I ever knew, ever 
heard of or read of, I reached this goal of my ambi- 
tion when about eighteen years of age. And I may say 
without boast, that in my chosen vocation I was eminently 

*I had, however a few noble friends in Phillips, -kind, generous, and 
true— Orin Robbius, Major Seward Dill, Nathaniel True. With these families 
1 had shelter— when other I had none. My kind preceptor, Hamilton Abbott, 
and Rev. J. S. Swift were friends whose memory through life I have delighted 
to cherish. To Major Dill especially I am indebted for the first kind words 
and wise counsel which led me to feel conscious that to exist should not be 
the only life ambition For my humble life achievements I am largely 
indebted to this friend of my boyhood, and venerable friend still. " God bless 
these dear friends" is ever iu my heart and upon my lips! 



200 

successful from the very beginning ; and that during my 
school-master experience I enjoyed all the luxuries of 
the profession in those days and in that locality, i. c. 
boarding round, sleeping in the cold " front room " (the 
place assigned to favored guests), feasting upon fried 
doughnuts, cakes, pies, etc., etc., everything the best 
obtainable ; and had also the luxury of admiring babies, 
kindest treatment and highest consideration (next to the 
beloved minister) of all the country round ; had the 
felicity of sleigh rides, singing schools, spelling matches, 
paring bees — after which the delirious gratification of 
" blind man's buff,"(rebuff sometimes,)" hunt the button," 
etc., etc., and the sweet pleasure of soft and innocent whis- 
pers of love. And I enjoyed a salary in the beginning of 
ten dollars ($10) per month! While yet a youth, unaided 
and alone in all my toilsome effort, I became earnestly 
republican, ardently democratic — both, and enthusiasti- 
cally devoted to republican democratic institutions as I 
then understood them. And then, as now, I regarded the 
free public school as the potent moral and intellectual 
factor in society and the state — the great social leader 
and leveler — elevating the more humble and gently re- 
pressing the austerity of the more exalted. These senti- 
ments, which I dare to call unselfish and patriotic, became 
intense as youth passed and early manhood succeeded, 
and they formed the foundation for my future ambition 
and my devotion to my chosen Public School work. 

And it was now when the young school-master was so 
successfully and happily employed, that he commenced 
to long for a newer and wider field ; one where competi- 
tion would be less and opportunities greater for the 
humble ability which he felt himself to possess and cap- 
able of duly employing. I had already heard much and 
read a little about Fremont and his discoveries of a new 
world beyond the Rocky Mountains, and I began to cast 



201 

wistful eyes to those fair fields then believed to exist in 
the far, far off Golden West. This came to be rny con- 
stant thought, dream and study ; and I impatiently waited 
for the time, opportunity and means of reaching the 
Pacific Coast. 

So, as soon as I had completed a fair English course, and 
an incomplete course in the classics, (in various village 
High Schools and in Farmington Academy — under the 
then youthful but now venerable " Preceptor," Hamilton 
Abbott, and at Kent's Hill, Maine, under the President, 
Reverend H. P. Torsey, and at Andover, Massachusetts, 
under the presidency of the celebrated educator and 
author, the Reverend Samuel Taylor) I forthwith com- 
menced my preparations for the goal of my ambition, 
and for my life work, as I had then determined it, on 
these mystic Pacific shores. I had little means, however, 
and I accordingly contemplated the journey across the 
continent on foot. At that time I was principal of the 
Phillips' Free School, in Andover, Massachusetts, at the 
same time a student in Phillips' academy, where I 
enjoyed the acquaintance, as fellow students, of two of 
San Francisco's now distinguished citizens, to wit: David 
Hewes, Esq., capitalist, and Mr. Charles A. Fisher, the 
well known hatter of San Francisco. 

Now, it so happened in the course of an overruling pro- 
vidence that just before my term closed in the Phillips' 
school at Andover, news was received very direct from 
the race of Sutter's Sawmill, Coloma, California, that 
gold had been discovered there. An immediate shout 
was then heard on all sides, "gold ! " " gold ! " " gold ! " 
And in a few weeks thereafter swift couriers had 
brought the glittering dust across the continent to the 
show windows of Boston. This still further stimulated 
curiosity and increased the popular excitement. "Gold ! " 
" gold ! " " gold ! " now rang out through the valleys and 



202 

hills of New England ; and the land soon heard the 
literal response from the sea. Almost immediately every- 
one seemed bound for California, old and young. The 
excitement continued for a time ; but after a more sober 
reflection most of the former or nearly all of them re- 
mained at home. But of the latter there was a general 
rush from every town and hamlet of the land; from our 
remotest northern boundaries to the Mexican gulf; and 
every seaport had vessels of every size, name and flag, 
under impromptu charters for the Pacific Coast. Such an 
uprising and eager rush of gold hunters has probably 
never been seen before or since in any age or clime since 
Jason led his illustrious army of argonauts who went in 
search of the golden fleece; and it is equally probable 
that such will never be seen again on this earth. 

Then, as I conceived, was my opportunity. The land 
of my dreams seemed rapidly approaching me, or I ap- 
proaching it. " Westward the star of empire takes its 
way," were words already familiar. I had gained the 
impression almost from my childhood that away beyond 
the Rocky Mountains, away in the scarcely explored 
regions beneath the setting sun, was a vast country of 
illimitable possibilities. And as years passed, and boy- 
hood was in the background and manhood confronting 
me, I longed for the new field where I could display — or 
rather employ — whatever genius or ability might have 
been vouchsafed to me; where individual enterprise would 
be less trammeled; where previous conditions of life would 
not discourage humble individual efforts; where the rut 
of public opinion and antiquated whims, whether social, 
political or religious, should be less irreconcilable with 
manly independence; where competition and small rival- 
ries would be less numerous and less offensive, and where 
opportunities to do and dare would be greater and, as I 
believed, more remunerative. So, I determined that 



203 

there, in that far off and scarcely known land; there, 
where our flag had but recently been carried by the brave 
and illustrious Fremont; there should be my field, and 
there I would establish Public Schools; there be a 
schoolmaster without interference, and employ my own 
methods in my own way. 

So, my school closing at Andover, I immediately left 
for Boston. There I visited a large number of kind 
friends, whose acquaintance I had previously enjoyed, 
told them of my early dreams, ambitions and aspir- 
ations, and urged upon them my present desire of 
embarking immediately for California. I did not speak 
to deaf ears, nor meet with the cold indifference which 
Columbus encountered in his first efforts to embark 
for America, to discover a new empire and found a new 
world. On the contrary, I immediately had congratula- 
tions, proffered kindness and extended favors on all sides. 
Every leading citizen to whom I spoke, lent his aid in 
some way: the Hon. B. F. Whittemore, the Rev. Edward 
Beecher, Rev. Nathaniel Culver, Deacons Grant and 
Gilbert, Hon. Henry N. Hooper (brother of the late 
esteemed William Hooper of this city), George N. 
Briggs, Governor of Massachusetts, and Hon. William 
Ap[)leton. From all these gentlemen I received encourage- 
ment and assistance of some sort. I was bountifully 
supplied with books, maps, globes, some school furniture; 
etc., etc., and letters warmly commending me to various 
early citizens of San Francisco and California. Among 
these I remember were William M. D. Howard, Lieut. 
Ives, C. L. Ross, William Hooper and Rev. 0. C. 
Wheeler. I have inadvertently omitted to say that the 
Hon. B. F. Whittemore, whose son afterwards became my 
assistant teacher in this city, presented me with a very 
fine library; that from Professor Cale Pelton, my cousin, 
I received an elegant set of outline maps, and from 



204 

Henry N. Hooper a magnificent school bell, on which 
were cast in raised letters these words: " Presented to the 
First Free Grammar School of San Francisco, by Henry 
N. Hooper & Co., Boston, Massachusetts." (Unfortunately 
this bell failed to reach its high destiny; for, before a 
suitable schoolhouse had been erected in San Francisco, 
the first of that terrible series of conflagrations which 
swept the city into ashes, consumed the storehouse in 
which the bell had been temporarily placed, and the 
melted metal of the bell dropped into the bay near 
Clark's Point.) From friends above mentioned I secured 
sufficient financial aid to quickly complete the prepara- 
tions for my voyage, for the land of my boyhood and 
youthful dreams, and my manhood's hopes. 

I had at first determined to make this life venture 
alone; but I was otherwise advised, and otherwise de- 
termined. A correspondence was resumed with a former 
kindly and attentive woman, whose dutiful and faithful 
care I had enjoyed through a long and severe illness 
several years previously. I proposed to her that we 
should join hands and hearts in the contemplated work 
of the future, and my proposition was at once accepted. 
In one week thereafter I was married to the noble woman 
away up in the hills of New Hampshire, and ere another 
week had passed we were on board the old, faithful, 
plodding ship New Jersey, sailing out of Boston harbor 
seaward and westward bound. The mellow light of the 
sinking sun was now gilding the hills and bathing 
the plains about Boston with his golden beam, and the 
Hunker Hill Monument, and the venerable, "old South 
Church," and the cupola of the old State House seemed 
lighted up with unusual brilliance. But neither the golden 
tinge of the declining sun nor the silver ripples of the sea 
were half as luminous and golden as were the hopes and 
dreams of the two hundred persons who formed the pas- 
senger list of our venerable New Jersey. 



205 

But finally night approached and settled over the land 
of our birth, where gladsome memories still lingered, 
albeit saddened not a little by other recollections which 
could not be left wholly behind. (We would not dispense 
with memory, yet we often wish some things we might for- 
get.) We slept little that night; there was too much to re- 
member of the past, and too-full and fruitful of thought 
were the anticipations of the future. Morning came and 
found us far, far seaward; so that the outlines of the dear 
native land were dimly seen, and these soon faded from 
sight and sank below the misty outlines. And then on, 
and on, we sailed without special incident or matters of 
interest. The sea was smooth as glass, the winds propi- 
tious, and we soon reached the equatorial belt. Here the 
days and nights were such as gave us almost a delirium of 
delight. Language entirely fails to describe one's sensa- 
tions and emotions when for the first time amid the tropical 
sea, or land, where both the heavens and the earth are 
happy in mutual smiles. As we were crossing the equator, 
near midnight, we were awakened by a considerable com- 
motion on deck: the occasion of which was soon known. 
For immediately some burly and grotesquely disguised 
sailors came into the cabin with a grease-pot and a rude 
brush. I was ordered from my room, placed in a chair; 
and in sailor fashion was introduced to Neptune and 
initiated into the mysteries and rights of seamanship 
by a bountiful daub of stale lard upon my face, and an 
unpleasant scraping off of the compound with a bent 
hoop. Neptune demanded; I yielded without demur, 
and the ridiculous scene was soon at an end. Other 
passengers were more resentful and fared worse; finally 
they were compelled to submit. There were no other 
occurrences worthy of note, until we came upon some 
Portuguese fishermen in their little catamarans, far off 
and out from the coast of Brazil, from whom we obtained 



206 

a bountiful supply of fresh fish, a most acceptable 
and delicious food. We sailed on, passed the West 
Indies starboard, and all we saw of the group were little 
verdant specks above the sea. Our next sight of land 
was near Cape Horn. And there we had the usual 
experience of "rounding the Horn," cold, gloomy and 
unhappy days, and fearful nights; furious and incessant 
headwinds and roaring hurricanes; cold rain and sleet, 
and storm, tempestuous billows, broken masts, splintered 
yards and torn sails. Yet we perseveringly struggled, 
making a backward course, however; losing 150 miles in 
three weeks. (The writer will never forget those three 
weeks.) We had a microscopic world on the New Jersey, 
civilized and savage. Some were jolly, some ferocious, 
some mourned and some laughed; some wept, and some 
prayed; some yielded to their tortures with christian 
submission; others raved in profanity; some submissively 
passed the time in sleep and indolence. We had games 
with " checkers," " dominos " and cards, reading societies, 
Lyceums, debating societies, courts, and a state legisla- 
ture, singing schools and prayer meetings, in all of which 
many persons became quite distinguished; the captain 
meantime gloaming like an imprisoned animal. But fair 
winds finally permitted our escape from the southern 
borean realms, and we were soon again'sailing hopefully 
on northward over the smooth waters of the Pacific. The 
snovvclad peaks of Patagonia glistening in the early sun- 
beams, lay now upon the starboard instead of the port. 
And now my school bell, suspended from the main rig- 
ging of the ship, which had merrily, or gloomily, marked 
the hours of day and night since the beginning of our 
voyage, rang forth its chimes with a new joy; our course 
was north and we were rapidly sailing toward the goal of 
future ambitions. A general good-natured congratulation 
went round from mouth to mouth. All were happy; old 



207 

sores and old scores, and the unhappy incidents of the 
past unhappy few weeks were canceled, forgiven and for- 
gotten. And even when a few days later, we were limited 
to one pint of water per day, a scant supply of tea and 
coffee, a meagre allowance of beans, crackers, " hard 
tack," and "duff," and "skouse," (these alternating with 
almost unvarying monotony for breakfast, dinner and 
supper) we still remained buoyant in spirits and ardent 
in hope. A few days of this trial, which we regarded 
lightly, brought us to the tropical land of Peru. We 
reached the harbor of Callao during the hours of early 
evening. Here we had our first knowledge of Peruvian 
law and custom regulations. However, next day we were 
permitted to land; and then we enjoyed our first experi- 
ence amid scenes and dreams almost Elysian. It was 
midwinter, and the climate beneath those rainless skies 
was then simply heavenly. The otherwise oppressive 
heat was daily cooled by the gentle breezes of the adjacent 
sea, soft and sweet as an infant's breath. Everything in 
nature and scenery was, of course, peculiar to the tropics, 
new and delightful to us. The fruits, how delicious ! the 
people, how queer ! yet we had the good fortune to be in- 
vited to spend the week of our stay in Peru beneath the 
kindly roof of a Spanish Portuguese family, who spoke 
not only Spanish, but English perfectly; and whose kindly 
hearts and cordial manner gave us a most agreeable 
welcome. To my dear, patient wife after all the four 
months' sea voyage already, it was, indeed, a cheerful 
sunbeam amid banks of shadows, a sweet foretaste of 
Elysium — this short stay in Peru. But a week of this joy- 
ous life, full of delightful freshness and beauty, which 
was never before or since equaled in our experience, is 
left as one of the bright memories of the long past. 

Re-embarked, we were again upon Pacific waters with 
quickened hopes, and anticipations still more sanguine. 



208 

For, while at Callao we had been reassured of the fabu- 
lous wealth that lay in the hills of California; had been 
shown plentiful samples of the golden grains and were 
told that a moderate application of the pick and spade 
only were necessary to acquire a satisfying abundance of 
the metal. Indeed, the returning stream of gold had already 
reached the South American coast; and before we left we 
had observed that the tidal wave of emigration which we 
had witnessed upon the Atlantic had its responsive coun- 
terpart here upon the South American Pacific. 

A few days later we were joyfully sailing up the 
southern coast of California. No one without a similar 
experience, and under similar circumstances, can under- 
stand with what eager eyes every object which came within 
the utmost stretch of our vision, was now attentively 
observed and studied. Our old, burly captain with glass 
in hand, alert and watchful, scanned the outlines of the 
coast, and every sailor was at his post. For the Pacific 
zephyrs that morning were not amiable with the wings 
of our old craft; and the mists of early evening formed 
a veil over the land of our dreams and rendered our 
situation a little dubious. Yet, just at daylight one 
morning was heard a joyful shout: " Land ho ! " " land 
ho ! " " land ahead ! " rang out from stem to stern. But 
the land was only the Farralones. However, they 
corrected our course, and we stood "off" a little, and 
then made direct for the " Heads "; and when the 
characteristic fogs of our coast had sufficiently lifted, 
we found ourselves rapidly approaching the " Golden 
Gate." What exhilaration, what mingled hope and joy 
was then ours ! My feeble pen is quite inadequate to even 
attempt to describe our emotions, and paint the golden 
panorama before our mental vision. Coming in directly 
astern was the famous Senator. She was saluted hilar- 
iously, for most of us had seen her in Boston harbor, and 



209 

hence she appeared to us like an old friend. How this 
vessel took passengers to Sacramento, decks black with 
living humanity, at thirty to fifty dollars per head, 
(meals two dollars) is a matter of history. It is said, 
however, that during a brief experience in this business 
the Senator earned an amount of coin (silver or gold?) 
equal to her carrying capacity. 

There were few sleepers on board of the New Jersey 
during our first night in San Francisco harbor. We were 
anchored in the close vicinity of about two hundred 
sail, including ships, barges, brigs, frigates, schooners, 
junks, etc., etc. The harbor, indeed, was as mottled, 
and of as varied nationalities as the groups of humanity 
which we met next day on shore. Indeed here were seen 
representatives from nearly every known clime and zone 
and land, civilized and savage; and of tongues as various 
and discordant as confused the air at the "dispersion." 
And here was a veritable, grotesque, unique and hilarious 
babel. Amid this scene, however, was the ubiquitous 
Yankee everywhere observed to be present, conspicuous 
and supreme. 

The first white man to reach our ship on the morning 
after arrival was a Mr. Lyman Mowrey — the father of the 
prominent San Francisco citizen lawyer. He was a man 
of big heart, of broad good-natured face, — the picture of 
content. And well he might be happy, for he had been 
here long enough to fill his pockets to repletion. From 
proprietor of a Rhode Island hotel, a man of ease and in- 
dependence, he had become a San Francisco drayman, 
proudly handling a pair of reins, or a club, over two 
grotesque mules; and easily enough earning from $40 to 
$50 per day. When we asked him if we had come to a 
good country, he smiled, and responded naively: "That 
depends upon what you have come for. If for gold, it is 
all right, plenty of it here, " suggestively drawing from his 



210 

pocket :i huge purse, paoked with gold coin; and with a 
still broader smile ^i' (satisfaction he held it up before our 

astonished eyes; "hut," said he, " i f you've come for any- 
thing else, you need not look for it here, hook at me; 

dirt and mud from head to loot, and 1 have not had a 
good New England dinner since 1 left, home; and as for 
lodgings! well, I've slept under my wagon, or with my 
mules ever since I'ye been here. However. I expect soon 
to crawl under a tent." The next genial and kindly face 
which boarded our ship, was that of P. V. Vassault, a 
gentleman, and now too well and kindly known in San 

Franoisoo to require Farther introduction, lie immedi- 
ately inquired wl.at we had to sell. 1 le made consider- 
able purchases, for which he paid ready coin. lie, too, 
seemed to have good cause for his smiles — money. But 
ere this nearly every member embraced upon our pas- 
senger list had hurriedly left our ship. Alas, poor fellows, 
never more to return ! And many of their poor bodies 

have undoubtedly in the long ago; mingled with the in- 
distinguishable dust of the Sierra's foothills. Bray,e, 

noble souls were most o( them; and it is a. most agreeable 
reflection that while we are unable to recall their names 
— \'ov the most part forgotten, there are, doubtless, others 
Of Other Lands in whose minds and hearts their memories 
remain forever green. Among those who remained in 
San PranoiSCO was Madison Haws, a gentleman and a 
christian o( rare type; he was one of the simplest, yet 
noblest and host men whom 1 have ever known. His 
beautiful daughter long years ago married a Judge 
Chritoher, then a resident o( IMarysville, now a financier 
of San Franoisoo. (These flood people enjoy the paternity 
of twelve grown children, who 1 trust, and doubt not, may 
honor their ancestry.) 

Of the New JerMy eompaiiy lew have been favored by 
(he smiles of a beneficent fortune. None have become 



21] 

either famous or wealthy; but none, so far as I know, 
have ever been compelled to face the hard fate of the 
writer. Of the 212 which formed our company, I know 
only live; beside myself who are living, to wit: Mr. 
William J. Bryan, of the Occidental & Oriental S. 8. Co.; 
Mr. Adolph Levy; Mr. Asa, Walcott (the musician), now 
citizens of San Francisco; and Joseph Neal of Sac Diego. 
It is not necessary for me to say that the foregoing, in 
their years and gray hairs, enjoy universal respect, if 
not honors and renown. 

I arrived in San Francisco harbor with one dollar and 
a half in my pocket. Wishing to get on shore as soon as 
possible, i hailed a passing boat, and asked what would 
l)e the price for my passage, for two or three; hundred 
yards. "Three dollars," came in brisk response; and 
without a moment's hesitation the boat passed on. But 
soon another came along quite near us. which I hailed 
with the same query as the other, and a similar response 
came back: "Three dollars." "But," I answered, "I 
have but a dollar and a half all told." "Never mind," 
said the good-natured boatman, "all right, conn; on." 
He came to the gangway, and 1 jumped aboard, went 
ashore hopefully, and quickly leaped upon the ages- 
washed sand beneath the cliffs of " Clark's Point." This 
locality would be near the intersection of Bansome and 
Vallejo streets. There was no time for romancing that 
morning; none whatever for sight-seeing. Yet the gen- 
eral scene was in the highest degree exciting, if not 
bewildering. Men of every cast and condition, complex- 
ion and expression, were hurrying hither and thither 
like boys at football, with the industry of ants, with the 
expression of eagerness and haste on every face; and I 
was on urgent business, too, seeking shelter for myself 
and wife. For the New Jersey must discharge cargo and 
be away immediately. A tent would not do, for we had 



212 

books, maps, etc., etc. These must be safely kept; and 
the rains of that season will be remembered by all living 
as having been events not only frequent but as terrible 
downpours, I believe scarcely equalled by those of any 
subsequent rainy season even up to the present day. 

After hunting about the outskirts of the then straggling 
village of San Francisco, in which there were, I think, 
less than two hundred buildings, big and little, I found a 
small redwood house nearly completed, near the corner 
of Pacific and Powell streets. The streets of San Fran- 
cisco had just been surveyed, but were unmarked. The 
little cottage was to have two small rooms and an attic. 
The kind, genial builder, George Brooks, now of Alameda, 
was inside at work. I asked him if his house would be 
for rent. He answered promptly, "Yes, in a day or two." 
I inquired what the rent would be. "Three hundred 
dollars per month." Three hundred "dollars a month for 
two small rooms, a little kitchen and a garret! I was 
amazed, as he doubtless observed. " Yes," said he, " rent 
is expensive here." (I concurred.) " Rents are, indeed, 
way up in San Francisco," he continued, " but you will 
be less astonished after you have been here a few days 
and learned the price of things generally." " Great 
heavens ! " I reflected, if I did not audibly exclaim. 
"And how am I to pay this three hundred dollars in 
advance without a penny now in my pocket?" 

Then I asked my good-natured Mr. Brooks, with not a 
little anxiety, if his rent must be paid in advance; to 
which query he responded affirmatively. And yet he had 
the kindness to ask if I was not in funds. His free and 
friendly inquiry induced me to state frankly my " situa- 
tion" to him. " Never mind, " he responded, " I guess 
that will be all right. Come in as soon as you like. And 
if you keep house I shall be glad to board and lodge with 
you; and that will help out considerably; for decent 



213 

board," he continued, "depending somewhat on quantity 
and quality, is anywhere from one to five dollars per 
meal, — from $20 to $30 per week; and lodgings — that de- 
pends on how high up or how low down you get. The 
low down is the rule. Most people sleep around in tents, 
under boats, in wagons, under the sagebrush, — under 
whatever will shelter them a little, and such lodgings 
don't cost much, if anything. In a good house a bed for 
a night, I think, costs anywhere from one dollar to five." 
So, I immediately quartered myself beneath the friend- 
ly roof of Mr. Brooks; and from the information which 
my friend had given me, to advance my efforts in the 
direction of establishing a public school, we opened a 
boarding house. This business we — chiefly the wife — 
continued for a long time with a fair degree of success. 
Groceries and provisions of every kind were enormously 
expensive, yet business was abundant and remunerative. 
The celebrated Mrs. Farnham, one of the most brainy 
and talented women whom I ever knew; the Hon." 
James Wilson, a former senator of New Hampshire; J. W. 
Simonton and Frank Rice, California's early distinguished 
newspapermen; Hon. J. J. Warner and Hon. Frank Soule, 
of California's first and second senate; Dr. Henry 
Gibbons; Chas. L. Strong, capitalist and banker, were 
among our early guests. One of my first cooks was a Mr. 
Hopkins, who afterwards became famous from his attempt 
to arrest Judge Terry of the California Supreme Court. 
(This was during early Vigilance Committee uprising.) 
Poor fellow, he was brave, yet without discretion, and 
received Judge Terry's fearfully long, burnished blade 
from point to hilt in the back of his neck. Hopkins 
lingered long between life and death, but finally recovered; 
and his recovery, doubtless, saved Judge Terry from an 
ignominious death, by strangling, at the hands of the said 
Vigilance Committee. (Mr. Hopkins afterwards fell in 



214 

the terrible battle of the Wilderness.) But I am getting 
ahead of my story. 

When I acquainted Mr. Brooks with my plans and my 
purpose in coming to California, I found in him then and 
thereafter, as he is still, a sympathising and noble friend. 
He told me of his own early life, of his friendlessnens and 
poverty and struggle. He had been a " sailor boy " from 
the port of Boston, then a whaler boy in the North Pacific; 
and it happened that his ship had one day anchored in 
the port of Honolulu for repairs. He had then had a suffi- 
ciency of sailor life and concluded to take a furlough of 
indefinite duration; in modern phrase, he "skipped." A 
reward Avas offered to the Kanakas for his capture; but he 
quickly fled to the mountains, hid himself by day in the 
craggy steeps of Mauna Loa, where he baffled and defied 
arrest or pursuit. At night he descended from his lair 
and feasted upon the fruits and milk and honey of a near 
missionary's kitchen. So, there in the mountains he 
"held the fort" until his ship had sailed, and then he 
embraced the earliest opportunity, and reached the 
less genial but more wholesome climate of California. 
He arrived in San Francisco in the latter part of 1848, 
and went immediately to the mines (where he soon 
tired of $10 to $30 per day by his pick and pan, and so 
determined to live the more civilized life in San Fran- 
cisco.) He said, " I was quite satisfied with the change"; 
for, at the carpenter's trade in this city, he could realize 
as much, or more, and suffer far less. "Yes," he said, 
"I, too, have seen a good deal of life, I assure you; and I 
have a warm sympathy with, and admire enterprise and 
industry, especially when wisely directed and well em- 
ployed. And your efforts to establish a public school here, 
Mr. Pelton, are indeed most commendable. You have the 
real New England ideas and ambition; and if you have 
also the patience and energy, you will undoubtedly sue- 



215 

ceed. There will have to be schools in California. A 
great many people are coming here to stay; you may feel 
assured of that. And there are plenty of children even now 
in San Francisco, who ought to be in school. I have no 
doubt you will succeed; but it will take a good deal of 
money to start you." Then he asked whether I had any 
furniture or anything in the way of housekeeping. 
" None," I replied; " only books and so forth." "Well," 
said he, "I've no coin, but I've some gold-dust here 
which you can have. You can take sufficient to purchase 
some furniture, provisions and so forth, to make yourself 
fairly comfortable at the start." Proceeding to his tool 
chest, he drew therefrom what appeared to have been a 
regular New England stage driver's buckskin mitten. It 
was brimful of gold-dust which he had washed out with 
his own hands. He took a piece of coarse cloth, poured 
a large handful of the yellow grains and brought it to me. 
" Now take this," said he; "I have no scales. Use what 
you want of it. I think there is about 150 dollars. If 
there is more than you require, you can return the bal- 
ance; and you can repay me some time when you are 
able, for what you use." It was, indeed, " some time " 
afterwards when I returned the gold-dust. Mr. Brooks' 
kindness in thus aiding me to make my first start in 
California can never be adequately returned in money. 

So I took the gold-dust, procured the needed supply of 
plainest furniture, and a moderate supply of provisions 
and groceries, at a total cost of about one hundred and 
fifty dollars. When I had completed my purchases I 
found that the little package, so confidently placed in my 
hands, contained about three hundred dollars of dust, 
about one hundred and fifty dollars beyond my demand, 
which I returned to the confiding Mr. Brooks. In later 
years he must have become more cautious in his dealings, 
especially with strangers; for though an unambitious man, 



216 

of large mind and generous heart, and far more fond of 
books than money, he has acquired considerable property 
in Alameda. He has a delightful home there, a pleasant 
family, and sufficient coin at his command to spend the 
declining years of an honest life with entire independence, 
as he so eminently deserves. 

My next effort after settling were a reconnaisance of 
the town, and making more particular inquiries as to the 
prospects and the ways and means of establishing a " free 
public school." And I soon learned that it did, indeed, 
require " considerable money " to go on with my work. 
But that money I determined to have, and at once; and 
by honest and honorable means of some sort, instead of 
by borrowing, which I could have done; for several of the 
wealthier pioneers kindly offered to advance me the 
necessary funds, even without interest. William D. M. 
Howard, Esq., to whom I have heretofore referred, and 
also Samuel Brannan, Esq., offered to loan me whatever 
I required. I declined those generous offers, for I did 
not wish to incur further indebtedness, lest it might be 
"some time" before I could discharge my obligations by 
establishing and conducting a free public school at my 
own expense. So, business being active, employments of 
all kinds offering at almost fabulous prices, I took the 
first that came in my way, to wit: the discharge, by 
lighters, of some of the remaining cargo of our ship. I 
might have plunged into profitable speculations, as I was 
strongly urged to do; but I feared that in this way I 
might be drawn from my original purpose. 

It has been fortunate for me through later life that I 
was born and bred to toil; that I early came to admire 
the hard, manly hand; and if the hand were a little 
soiled and horny, felt it deserving the more cordial 
grasp, and the warmer pressure. It may not always 
seem to be the best way, but it is so: honest labor to 



217 

secure honest ends. And we had in San Francisco, in 
those days, and for a considerable period subsequently, 
that ideal society wherein common labor and sweat were 
profitable, and honesty most honorable. Lawyers were 
then good draymen (the first drayman whom I employed 
was a lawyer) ; priests and preachers were good carpen- 
ters, and teachers " good at anything," like myself. Then 
rogues were speedily expelled or summarily hanged. The 
moral atmosphere of San Francisco was then first-class. 
In the discharge of the New Jersey I made a decided 
"hit" in a mercantile transaction. We had several 
tierces of rice on board of first rate quality; and no one 
knew what it was worth, if indeed, there was a market 
for such a quantity at any price. There were then no 
Chinamen in California. So, I had the option of taking 
the rice at four cents a pound, cost price in Boston, for 
two days; at the expiration of which I was to pay for the 
same or see that it was safely stored somewhere on shore; 
in which latter case I was to receive thirty dollars per 
trip with my lighter. Several trips with my lighter that 
evening and night, and the rice was landed on the beach 
above tidewater, all safe in the backyard of Macondray 
& Co. That night was dark; so dark, indeed, that I 
scarcely knew where I had left my cargo. But, after a 
sleep of a few hours at home, I rushed down in the early 
morning to see about my property. I found it as above 
described, somewhat to the annoyance of Macondray & 
Co. And they demanded its immediate removal. " But," 
said I, "how is that possible? There it is there, 
way up upon the sand, and the tide is low. How am I 
to reload and remove it?" The inconsiderate reply 
came: "That is not our business, and we want it away 
immediately. We want the space it occupies, and must 
have it." "But," said I, "do you wish me to roll the 
rice down into the bay? " Silence was the only answer 



218 

to this query. Just at this point of my dilemma, I heard 
the dear old gentleman, Capt. Macondray, call out to the 
man who was importuning me: "Buy the rice of Mr. 
Pel ton, if he will sell it, and give him a fair price for it." 
I was asked my price. I was compelled to answer: " I 
do not know what it is worth, but what will you give? " 
(Yankee method, of course.) " Eleven cents per pound," 
was the response, which offer I accepted and was de- 
lighted; for I was relieved of my cargo, and from my 
perplexity, and had a net profit upon my purchase and 
for my one night's work of a little more than four hundred 
dollars! 

I now began to see the ways and means for my school 
to come into existence in the near future, and at once 
sent the following first communication urging the estab- 
lishment of Public Schools in San Francisco, to the 
Ayuntamiento: In Council. — " A communication from 
John C. Pelton, stating his designs in regard to estab- 
lishing free Public Schools, was submitted by committee 
on education with recommendation in favor of action on 
the part of city authorities for the establishment of a 
Public School." 

Meantime this work continued with my lighter. It 
was chiefly performed at night and often with the greatest 
danger. But it was uniformly a paying business, and 
only a few weeks had elapsed when I found that I had 
sufficient means to go directly about that one business of 
my life, to which all others have been merely subordinate 
and comparatively unimportant. I had already consulted 
many citizens regarding my cherished plans. All had 
spoken kindly and most of them approvingly, yet I found 
a few who had neither time nor inclination to assist. In 
the Alcalde, John \V. Geary, and in the clerk of his 
court, Henry L. Dodge, Esq., now of this city, I found 
warm friends for my school enterprise; and also in William 



219 

D. M. Howard, Talbot H. Green, Samuel Brannan, Capt. 
Macondray, David Hewes, Madison Hawes, Wm. Heath 
Davis, Samuel Holliday, Wm. C. Hoff, Capt. M. R. 
Roberts, Rev. 0. C. Wheeler, John F. Pope, A. B. 
Hatch, Wm. T. Coleman, Chas. L. Ross, and others. 
(See Appendix B.) Through the aid of the last five 
gentlemen I obtained the free use of the First Baptist 
Church for my purposes, a cut of which school will be 
found on page 246. It was situated on Washington street 
near Stockton street; on which site is now seen the im- 
posing Chinese Joss House and mercantile emporium. 
Obtaining ample accommodation, free of rent, at this 
period was an immense aid. I could not have secured 
other accommodations as generally suitable at that time 
for less than five hundred dollars per month. 

I had now been in California about two months; my 
family settled and well provided for, and the necessary 
funds for my undertaking were in hand. My stars were 
auspicious and my bark in readiness, so I proceeded to 
launch it and accordingly published the following notice: 

" To the citizens of San Francisco: 

" The subscriber proposes to establish in San Francisco 
a Free Public School. 

"In order that the school may be free to all who may 
be disposed to avail themselves of its privileges, it is pro- 
posed to admit free of tuition all who may apply; no 
other compensation being required at present, than such 
as the friends of the S3hool and the public generally may 
be disposed to contribute. 

" It is also proposed until better arrangements can be 
made, that the school shall consist of children and youth 
of both sexes and of the different ages that usually attend 
primary and more advanced schools, and that the course 
of study include those English branches taught in the 
public schools of New England. 



220 

" The Baptist Church, on Washington street, has been 
generously tendered, and a sufficient sum guaranteed to 
conveniently fit the same for the uses of the proposed 
school. 

"The school will commence on Wednesday, the 26th 

lnSt> "J. C. Pelton." 

The above announcement received the very kindly no- 
tice of the city press of that date. The Pacific Neivs of 
December 27th, printed the following editorial notice: 

"a free public school. 

• u It will be seen by the advertisement which we give 
below, that a movement in favor of education is about 
commencing in our midst. Mr. J. C. Pelton proposes to 
open a school in the Baptist Chapel on Washington 
street, which shall be free for children of both sexes. 

" We know nothing further of the gentleman, than that 
he comes among us well recommended by Governor 
Briggs and other friends of education in Massachusetts, 
for his high moral character, and for his skill in the reg- 
ulation of a school, and the imparting of instruction 
without which no teacher can succeed. We can but 
express our sincere hope that his laudable efforts may be 
crowned with success." 

Citizens now generally congratulated me and warmly 
commended my enterprise. I scarcely need say that I 
greatly enjoyed the encouragement of friends, and that my 
very heart beat with deep gratitude as I saw the " material- 
ization "of ardent hopes. But the query on all hands, 
however, was: " How are you going to make it pay? " The 
very thing I had scarcely seriously considered. The estab- 
lishment of the free school system here on the shores 
of the Pacific had long engaged all my thoughts. This 
was the central idea, and to it were given my ambi- 



221 

tions, all my energies, and my small ability. This being 
accomplished, then regarding my future needs I had no 
further anxiety; perhaps such were unwisely neglected. 

And so the " 26th day of December, 1849," came. The 
skies were clear and auspicious after a night of heavy 
storm, and I was at my post in my school room; and my 
doors were open wide and early. With what feelings I 
awaited the hour of nine o'clock that morning! I think 
Columbus looked from the deck of the " Pinta " on the 
ever 'memorable morning of the new world's discovery 
with a scarcely greater interest or more watchful eye than 
the schoolmaster peered from his doors that morning for 
his first incoming pupils to the " first free public school." 

Presently one came in, and then another, and then 
another. So at nine o'clock there were three boys present! 
And if I remember rightly these were Charles Cushing, 
Cornelius Makin, and Davis Louderback. With these 
three boys I at once commenced the opening of exercises, 
to wit: the Lord's Prayer and several little school songs: 
" America," " The Star Spangled Banner," the " Silvery 
Tide," etc. I could sing in those days, and I placed high 
value upon appropriate music in school, as an exercise at 
once softening to the heart and strengthening to moral 
sentiments. As to the Lord's Prayer, I think it a grave 
mistake that this part of the " opening exercises " should 
ever have been omitted in the city and state schools. In 
the afternoon of this first day quite a little throng of boy 
and girls were present; next day about thirty made their 
appearance. 

Referring to my first three pupils above named, it is 
with not a little interest that I observe their gray heads 
and gray beards, and note their paternal mien. They 
are all residents of San Francisco; and they may be 
looking upon their second generation. Oh! the flight of 
time! Yet it is not wonderful, of course, that one begins 
to feel its serious touch at three score years and seven' 



222 

So, then, the first Free Public School was no longer the 
sanguine dream of a single young man, but an institution 
de facto et tie jure in the city and county of San Francisco, 
State of California. The expenses of the school in the 
beginning were met by private resources almost entirely; 
and for two or three months no salaries were received or 
asked for. I thought it better to show, first, what a public 
school really was; then to gain for it the support of public 
sentiment; and next to make it one of the living institu- 
tions of the country. When all this had already been 
done. Talbot, H. Green of the Ayuntamiento (city coun- 
cil), offered the following resolution in that body, and it 
was unanimously adopted, March 28, 1850: 

" Resolved that from the first day of April, J. C. Pelton 
and Mrs Pelton, his wife, be employed as teachers for 
the public school in the Baptist Church, which has been 
offered to the council free of charge, and that the average 
number of pupils shall not exceed one hundred; and that 
the}'- shall be entitled to a monthly salary, during the 
pleasure of the council; of 500 dollars per month, payable 
each and every month." (This salary was supposed to be 
fairly compensatory, but it was paid in " scrip," which 
soon was worth only a small fraction of its face value.) 

We find in the above resolution the very first municipal 
legislation of this city or in this state, recognizing and 
providing for the support of a Free Public School. 

Some weeks later the schoolmaster called on the chair- 
man of the committee on education and then and there 
we prepared the very first school ordinance, found in the 
public archives of this city or state, to wit: 

" An ordinance for the regulation of common schools," 
passed April 8th, 1850. 

"(1) Be it ordained by the common council of San 
Francisco, that from and after the passage of this act it 
shall be the duty of J. C. Pelton, who has been employed 



223 

by the council as a public teacher, to open the school in 
the Baptist Chapel. 

" (2) Said schoo] shall be opened from 8.30. a. m. to 
12. m., and from 2. p. m., to 5. p. m., and shall continue 
open from Monday until Friday, at 5 o'clock p. m. 

" (3) The number of scholars shall not exceed the 
number of one hundred, and no scholar shall be admitted 
under the age of four, or over the age of sixteen. 

" (4) All persons desirous of having their children 
instructed in said school shall first obtain an order from 
the chairman of the committee on education, and all 
children obtaining said order shall be instructed in said 
school, free of charge. 

" (5) It shall be the duty of said Pelton to report to 
the council on the first of each and every month the 
number of scholars and the progress of said school." 
(Hon. B. F. Whittemore of Boston, Massachusetts; the 
Revs. Humphrey Jamson and J. L. Lathrop, also of Bos- 
ton, and Nathaniel Lowel of this city, were soon after 
teachers with me in the above school.) 

The fourth provision at once became too troublesome to 
the said " committee on education," and I was advised by 
the committee if not so directed, to admit all applicants; 
and this I did till I finally had over 300 enrolled, with 
three extra teachers employed and paid by myself, — with 
a promise of reimbursement, which never came. In com- 
pliance with above ordinance my first report was made 
May 4th, 1850. And this was the first Public School 
report to be found in the archives of this city or state. 

(In the matter of further early records see Appendix 

B.) 

The branches taught and the course of study in Cal- 
ifornia's first public school were such as were usually 
pursued in the public schools of New England, then and 
now, to wit : the alphabet, spelling, reading, writing, rhet- 



2!24 

oric, arithmetic, grammar, geography, history, philosophy, 
algebra, etc., etc. The ages of my pupils ranged from 
four to seventeen. I remember that Judge David Loud- 
erback was then one of my elder boys, and the most 
proficient in algebra; James Cushing and Miss Mary 
Williams were my "star" readers; Cushing, Louderback, 
and William Woozencraft, son of the old pioneer, Dr. 
Woozencraft, one of the framers of our State constitution, 
were my elocutionists; Cornelius Makin and his sister 
Rachel, and Lizzie Burns, were my sweet singers. I had 
hosts of lesser brilliant boys and girls in every depart- 
ment, whose names I cannot recall; and it has been the 
regret of many years that during the confusion and 
neglect of papers attending my very protracted illness, 
some twenty years ago, many of my first school papers, — 
records, [catalogues, reports, etc., etc., were lost. Yet I 
remember one item which may have interest with the 
curious. 

From the first public school report to the Common 
Council, San Francisco, May 4, 1850, by John C. Pelton. 

"nativity of pupils. 

" Maine," 1; New Hampshire, 2; Vermont, 1; Massa- 
chusetts, 4; Rhode Island, 3; New York, 15; New Jersey, 
4; Pennsylvania, 5; Maryland, 3; Ohio, 3; Wisconsin, 3; 
Tennessee, 1; Missouri, 5; Mississippi, 1; Louisiana, 14; 
Arkansas, 6; Oregon, 1; California, 2. Total in the United 
States,*;??. England, 5; Scotland, 4; Ireland, 5; Ger- 
many, 1; France, 1; Chile, 20; Peru, 1; Australia, 20; 
New Zealand, 15; Sandwich Islands, 3. Total foreign, 
75." 

The above figures show the peculiarly " mixed " char- 
acter of San Francisco's early population. In regard to 
missing records I most deeply of all regret the loss of the 
first catalogue of pupils attending the first public school, 



225 

and the first school ordinance (script copy), 1849-50, 
which I scrupulously preserved for many years, How- 
ever, I can recall with great distinctness more of those 
dearly remembered names than I have here place to 
record. (See Pioneer Pupils on page 260.) They are 
now found in the directories of every town of this 
State; and, of course, a great number of them are scat- 
tered everywhere. I have not for thirty years or more 
failed to meet some one or more of them whenever chance, 
business or pleasure have found me within the limits of 
California. Of course, they have been found in every 
profession and vocation. And of all, whose lives which 
have been followed by me, or learned of from others, 
there have been but three, or perhaps four names, which 
I would forget if I could. It has ever been and still is 
my pride that almost every one ever under my care (and 
there were over eleven hundred registered in my first 
school in San Francisco), has "honored father and 
mother," and name, and their teacher, and the public 
school system. If my health for a short period contin- 
ues even fairly good I intend so far as possible to obtain 
the names of my former pioneer pupils and their present 
vocation and addresses. 

We have now seen the organization of the first free 
public school, and the primary introduction of the public 
school system in California. 

Meantime, before and soon after, there were several 
private or tuition schools. One, indeed, was called a 
"public school" (that on the plaza), but it did not 
" materialize " as such. The proposed teacher required a 
certain salary guaranteed by the city; and tuition fees to 
be extra pay. Terms, however, were not fully arranged, 
and the teacher left for the mines. Rev. A. Williams (I 
think in August, 1850,) proposed to the city that his 
private or church school be made a "public school" on 



226 

about the same terms as Mr. Douglas' school above, and 
that he be the " rector of public schools." Nothing came 
of this proposition. (It is a somewhat singular circum- 
stance that a few years later Rev. A. W. Williams had 
forgotten that a public school had ever been organized, 
legally recognized, and thoroughly established in the 
State prior to 1851; and hence, it seems, he had no 
scruples in writing an epitaph which committed this error 
and which was chiseled in marble, i. e., on the monument 
of T. J. Nevins!) 

This error of Rev. A. W. Williams did not originate 
altogether with himself. It doubtless had its origin in 
the dedication of the Bush street public school. This 
was not the first public school building erected in the city 
either, but being the first "dedication" of a public school 
building in San Francisco, it attracted much attention; 
and several of the speakers on the occasion spoke erron- 
eously of the school (not the building), as the first in 
California — only that dedication could be first. (See 
Errors Corrected in Appendix B. ) 

THE NEXT FREE PUBLIC SCHOOL. 

Early in the autumn of 1850, as nearly as I can now 
remember, an old gentleman called at my schoolroom 
several times, desiring employment. (He had been a 
teacher.) I advised him to follow my own example and 
establish a Free Public School in " Happy Valley." 
" But how shall I live, meantime?" responded Mr. Newton. 
I proposed to aid him with a few dollars and to give him 
such books as his pupils should require, and for these he 
could charge a fair California price. My proposition was 
accepted. But my old friend soon tired of this effort, 
and left the field to a Mr. Lewellyn, whom I assisted a 
little, as I had his predecessor. But this gentleman, in 
turn, soon left the school (for the mines, of course) to a 



227 

Mr. James Cooley. Mr. Cooley was young, active, intelli- 
gent and persistent; and he made the "Happy Valley" 
school a decided success; gained the confidence of his 
patrons, and the patronage of the city council, and treas- 
ury also. The " Happy Valley School" in the reorganiza- 
tion under the second school ordinance, (passed in April, 
1851,) was placed in charge of James Denman, an able 
teacher, a wise disciplinarian, — unsurpassed as a public 
school manager and master. Under his principalship 
and by other favorable conditions, the " Happy Valley 
School, " under the new programme, became the leading 
school of the city and remained so for years. 

Mr. Denman's long, zealous and able conduct of 
this school has well entitled him to the high considera- 
tion of successive boards of education. And independent 
of his donation to the above school of a thousand dollars, 
it is not less creditable to him as it is to a former Board 
of Education, that the "Happy Valley School" now 
bears his name. Mr. Denman is also one of rare good 
fortune financially, an exception to the rule as to school- 
masters. 

FURTHER PLEASANT INCIDENTS. 

Our first May-da3 r , 1850, was celebrated upon Telegraph 
Hill. This was before it was vandalized by advancing 
civilization; before its sides were ruthlessly blasted away 
for ship-ballast and pavement; while a carpet of green, 
bespangled with flowers, over-spread on every side; from 
whose summit we then looked out upon the tranquil 
waters of the bay bathing the feet of the northern forest- 
clad hills; its shimmering wavelets skirting the beautiful 
landscape then called simply Contra Costa, Pinole, Oak- 
land, Berkeley, Clinton, San Leandro, etc., etc. The 
southern extremity of San Francisco bay then extended to 
a land almost incognita, but which is now called the 
" garden of California." San Mateo, Belmont, Redwood 



228 

City, Menlo, Palo Alto, and Mayfield were creations yet 
to have being and name. 

Our next May-day at Point Lobos was toilsome and 
expensive — but Los Lobos (the seals) were then, as now, 
objects of extreme interest to my teachers and pupils. 
The May-day of 1851 was a climbing over the Mission 
hills before they had been terraced, pierced and despoiled; 
while they were yet beautiful and attractive; when the 
flowers of infinite variety and loveliness reminded one of 
Elysian fields and happy content. 

But the most important incident, if not the most 
pleasurable of the Pioneer School, was the first celebration 
of Admission Day, September 9th, 1850. " The First 
Public School " was a most novel, interesting and conspic- 
uous feature of that occasion. Here are some comments 
of the press regarding same: 

[Pacific News, November 1st, 1850.] 
Referring to the celebration of Admission Day, the News 
remarks: "We were much interested to see displayed 
in the midst of the assembled thousands on Tuesday last, 
in front of the speaker's stand, a banner with the inscrip- 
tion thereon: 'The First Public School in California.' 
About that banner were assembled a large number of the 
scholars of Mr. Pelton, accompanied by him and his 
assistant teachers." 

The youth who carried our banner-staff on the above 
occasion, A. J. Burke, still a resident of San Francisco, 
has ever been very proud of his part on Admission Day, 
1850. 

OUR FIRST VACATION. 

It was enjoyed in June — July, 1850. It was most de- 
lightfully spent with the Estudillos of San Leandro, only 
fifteen miles away. Yet San Leandro was then as truly 
Spanish and the family as purely Castilian, as if we had 



229 

found them in the vales of the Pyrenees, from whence 
came their ancestors. San Leandro was a new world to 
us; nature and humanity were enchanting and unique; 
and everything we saw and admired was " de usted " (" it 
is yours.") This is the Spanish chivalrous custom. Here 
not only everything we saw and admired was ours, but 
every wish was anticipated, and every enjoyment was 
enhanced by the real Hidalgan cordiality. Alas, that 
such habits and such customs are now so rare, and little 
known and appreciated in California! So inconspicuous 
even among those who should be proud of their ancestry, 
and who should lovingly cherish the gallantry and ven- 
erable customs of their fathers. And a sad reflection 
comes in here, sorrowful and shameful, that that illus- 
trious Spanish family, formerly so prodigal of its kind 
offices, so magnificently generous and hospitable to the 
wanderer from any land or clime, has been rewarded for 
its unlimited generosity and conspicuous benevolence 
by being first robbed of herds and lands, then stung by 
the vipers whom they warmed into life — consumed by the 
moths which crept into their garments; and finally well- 
nigh extinguished from our land. "Shame! Shame!" 
escapes from my lips as I recall these disagreeable facts 
in California History, as to the Spanish race. 

It will be seen by the foregoing that the free public 
school was now de facto et de jure an institution of San 
Francisco, and had a strong hold upon public favor. 
California as yet had no school law; and it was seen by 
the few friends of education, then in the state, that the 
time had arrived when such laws should be enacted and 
in operation. Hence, about this time a bill " concerning 
public schools " was introduced in the assembly of the 
legislature of 1850-51, by Hon. Elcan Hydenfeldt. It was 
soon, however, learned from one of the members of that 
body, that public schools had few friends there, and that 



230 

to get the bill in legal form, a law such as would advance 
educational instead of private interest in public lands, 
would require much effort. At the request of Mr. Hyden- 
feldt, Hon. George B. Tingley, Judge Marvin, and others, 
the writer procured a substitute for his place in school, 
and went to San Jose to assist in properly amending the 
bill and in securing its passage. (See letters of Governor 
John McDougal and others, to be found in Appendix B.) 
This work was toilsome and expensive in the extreme. 
Indifference was found to be the rule, except as to a 
few of the members; but opposition absolute on the 
part of several legislators was also to be met and over- 
come. Little progress was made in three weeks; and 
the last day of the session arrived. We were dismayed 
at what seemed an inevitable waste of effort, and then a 
failure. But I knew the public schools had one strong 
friend at least in the president of the senate, Honorable 
D. C. Broderick. I went to him, explained the situation 
and asked his assistance. This he gave with a right good 
will, and the bill became law that day — the first school 
law of California. It passed considerably mutilated, 
however; in some respects differing widely from the bill 
as first drawn, yet it served as a beginning of school 
legislation in this State. 

At the next session of the legislature, held in Sacra- 
mento, Honorable Frank Soule, myself, and others, framed 
an amended law and succeeded in securing its passage, 
against considerable opposition, for the reason that the 
provision allowing a division of school funds in the 
former law, had been omitted in this. This law stands 
nearly the same as found on the statute books of to-day. 

About this time I retired temporarily from all school 
work. My only solace now in my forced resignation, a 
very great one, indeed, was the reflection that my efforts 
had been attended with entire success. The free school 



231 

system had been adopted in the city and then in the 
state. How important this fact, locally and generally, in 
the achievements of westward progress on this coast, in 
the social development of this community and state, I 
may safely leave to the readers of these pages. What 
was the cost to myself of my humble undertaking, and 
how much or how little my early services in this connec- 
tion should now be remembered, recognized, and rewarded, 
I am not the one who can most appropriately and impar- 
tially consider. But, as I am looking to public favor in 
behalf of my present work, I deem it not presumptuous 
on my part, when I ask the reader, as I do now, to glance 
over the " quotations from the early press of San Fran- 
cisco," which will be found in Appendix B, and the pages 
of testimonials and correspondence. 

I feel assured that from these references it will be cor- 
rectly inferred that my first few years of work in Califor- 
nia were not for my own personal advantage; not merely 
for name or fame, and certainly not for fortune. Yet it 
is with some degree of pride (I trust it will be deemed by 
all a pardonable pride, especially as at present I can 
claim so little of earth's bounties and pleasures, and can 
hope for so little in the future, — have so little else to be 
proud of) that I point to the fact that I continued 
perse veringly, until I saw the Public School system in 
this city and state an assured success. 

After I had established the First Public School and 
had assisted in the organization of others in San Fran- 
cisco, I became the first elected superintendent of 
San Francisco county (not city), and by the operation 
of the consolidation act soon after I became the first " City 
and County " Superintendent of San Francisco. (This is 
robbing no one of deserved laurels). I became the second 
time Superintendent of Schools in 1865. I was member 



232 

and chairman of the first teacher's meeting in this city 
and state. The first public school reports, municipal or 
state, will be found above my signature among the dust- 
buried archives of San Francisco. (See Appendix B.) I 
was one of the trustees of the first State Reform School, 
aided in its organization and was its first Superintendent; 
and was subsequently superintendent of the Industrial 
school of San Francisco. I can also say without injustice 
to others, that the San Francisco cosmopolitan school 
system was my own conception from a former experimen- 
tal school, organized and kept at my own expense. 

And during my connection with the public schools of 
this city I have been the principal in the Washington 
street, the Bush street (now " Denman"), the Rincon, 
the Lincoln and Hyde street schools; sub-master in the 
Mission and Union; and in all the above positions I had 
no mortification, or lack of success. I know that when- 
ever or wherever I have taught or presided, or superin- 
tended, I have been so fortunate as to enjoy the affection 
of my pupils, the kindliest regard of my assistant teachers, 
and the respect, confidence and good will of my patrons, 
and, as I trust, the public in general. And while teacher 
or superintendent, first to last, I now recall but two acts 
in all the years which I have occasion to regret, to wit: 
the first, undue severity in the punishment of a boy; and 
this resulted from his obstinate refusal to tell me the 
truth, neither denying, nor admitting his culpability. 
(Long after this punishment I learned that Charles Broad 
was not the mischievous boy that I had supposed him to 
be.) The other mistake recalled, is that of the transfer of 
Ira G. Hoitt from the principalship of the Lincoln school. 
This was not strictly my act, but I was responsible for it, 
and at that time I thought myself justified. But I was 
not; nor should the rule of " getting even " ever control or 
characterize the schoolmaster, or gentleman. So, at this 



233 

late date, he has my regrets and apology; but he needs 
neither, nor has he asked either of me. No one on earth ever 
did, or ever will accuse me of using my position or office for 
personal emolument or advantage, except in this sole 
instance. And it is a pleasant reflection that no patron in 
my whole life ever long remained unreconciled with any 
of my acts of discipline; that no pupil ever finally went 
from under my instruction or care or superintendence 
with other than warmest and kindest feelings toward my- 
self, both as schoolmaster and as friend; that no associate 
or subordinate teacher ever left me without respect and 
good-will; and that my earliest comrades in professional 
ranks are now, with or without their epaulets, my cordial 
and most esteemed friends. It is also a most gratifying 
reflection that of all my early professional friends none 
have been overtaken with extremes of adversity of any 
kind; and that such of those who have not retired on 
their laurels of fame and fortune, well and worthily 
earned, are still firm on their pedestals of honor, rising 
higher and higher in the reverential esteem of the thous- 
ands upon thousands who have been benefited by their 
lives and labors. And in this connection I dare to pre- 
sume that I shall not be regarded as too invidious if I 
refer to my friends, Professors Martin Kellogg, John Swett, 
D. C. Stone, and J. W. Anderson, the present state 
Superintendent of Public Schools. 

Most of the happy memories of my life cluster about 
the years 'forty-nine to 'seventy-two. In this period there 
were "shadows" intermingled with "sunbeams"; but the 
latter were by far the more frequent and constant. My 
reverses, if such they should be called in all those long 
past years, were firmly met and quickly overcome; and 
my successes, if not brilliant, were sufficiently satisfactory 
to give a rosy tinge to an ordinary humble life. 



234 

But sorrows and shadows finally came; and came, too, to 
make a long stay with me, if not to remain my " shadow," 
to the end of life. In 1869 after very earnest persuasion on 
the part of its friends and some of my warm friends, I ac- 
cepted the superintendence of the Industrial School. This 
institution had seen much trouble almost from the first 
day of its organization. It had proved the rock upon 
which others, and stronger than I, had been fearfully 
wrecked. My predecessor, Major J. C. Morril, a noble 
and good man, as sensitive as honorable and honest, 
tried to make peace there and secure the prosperity and 
the moral advancement of that institution; but like his 
predecessors and successors, he, too, failed, — with wrecked 
health and shattered nerves. I thought myself equal to 
the position. And so indisputably I was while I enjoyed 
the support of a united Board of Trustees. But this I 
had only for a brief period. Then came dissension and 
wrangling, cross purposes instead of harmony. Every 
body wa3 suspicious of every body else. I may say 
there were two parties in the Board; each was partly 
religious and partly political. The prejudices of each 
against the other were strong if not bitter; each by the 
other was suspected of wrong intention, incapable of 
correct motives or right conduct. And the Superintendent, 
endeavoring to stand firmly between the two factions of 
warring belligerents, received undeserved blows, and cruel 
stabs, too, on all sides. Even while the Institution was 
still unprecedently prosperous, and its condition of use- 
fulness was more than satisfactory to the general public 
and to all patrons and friends, general hostilities com- 
menced. Assaults came with such shameful persistency, 
and with such devilish malignity that my efforts were 
nullified and paralyzed, and my best work undone. I 
was more than two years and a half here in this position 
without recreation or rest, either by day or by night, on 



235 

weekdays or Sundays. The latter day being open to all 
visitors, the religious exercises to be attended to, to avoid 
intrusion; regularity and order to be preserved through 
the buildings and grounds; visitor's wants to be listened 
to, and escapes through constantly open gates prevented. 
This, and more, made Sunday a day of torture rather 
than a day of rest to the Superintendent. 

All this was more than any human being could long en- 
dure. It is not necessary for me to say that my poor human 
nature was overtaxed and weakened; that my heart, 
mind, soul, and body became utterly exhausted and 
prostrated. I had been contemplating sending in my 
resignation for some weeks. But I did not act in the 
matter as promptly as I should have done. At this time 
came the last act in that horrible programme: a terrible 
fall from my buggy prostrated me, and I was compelled 
ere long to send in my resignation. 

A period was now put to my labors here, and to 
all work scholastic or otherwise. Nor have I seen 
one moment from that hour to the present, free from 
the most extreme suffering. My faculties were then 
nearly paralyzed at once; eyesight dim, without taste, 
smell, or hearing, and with roar of Niagara, wail of storm- 
wind, the boom of cannon, the shriek of shell, — the unut- 
terable discords of earth and the heavens within my 
weary brain. All this has rendered life scarcely worth 
living. Neither physical nor mental enjoyment has been 
possible since that terrible hour of disaster. I have 
continued to live as a moral duty and because I dared 
not die. Yes, I have lived — a miserable suffering exis- 
tence, not in the power of pen or tongue to describe, or 
the ordinary mind (in health) to conceive. There were 
years, indeed, during which I was really conscious only 
of one thing: that I was the victim of continued, cease- 
less, incurable suffering, of unrelieved physical and mental 



236 

torture and ruin. Would to God that the memories and 
horrors of those dreadful years could be blotted from my 
mind forever! For they are recalled with scarcely a light- 
ened sorrow, with deepest possible regrets, — all like a 
horrible phantom. And it would pursue me still. I only 
resist utter demoralization of faculties and complete pros- 
tration by a constant effort. All the will, and all the 
patience, and all the optimistic philosophy possible for 
me to command and enforce upon myself, are needed; 
and sometimes all these are found scarcely sufficient. 

And now I am again in San Francisco, in the midst of 
whose teeming multitudes I find myself grayheaded and 
almost a stranger; in old age, in extreme infirmity, trav- 
eling rapidly down the narrow verge of the little of life 
still left. Yes, in San Francisco, in " '49 " — then the 
unborn giant, but ready to leap full grown from the 
womb of the immediate future, or, like Neptune, rise from 
the sea. San Francisco was then the materializing dream 
of its few friends, the Pacific metropolis to be, — indeed, 
in a few months to be among the most important commer- 
cial cities of the world — a western rival of many cities of a 
hundred years growth beneath the rising sun. Then but 
a shapeless village, consisting of a few dozen small wooden 
buildings, a few cheap shanties, a multitude of tents, 
clustering about the eliptical trend of the bay between 
Clark's Point and El Rincon. '49— '93! A few years, 
true. Yet, in contrasts presented the work of centuries. 
And what have these years brought to the then hopeful, 
young schoolmaster! 

Ah! no. I do not speak altogether regretfully, though 
somewhat sorrowfully. I, too, had the pre-vision and 
true faith in San Francisco and California's future, which 
stimulated the ambition of all others; and hence my 
personal efforts to meet what I knew would be its demands 
in the immediate future, public schools. But I had no 



237 

time to study the financial or commercial problem, had I 
then had the ambition to do so. I had my one work to 
perform, and in this I found my thoughts and my heart 
taxed to the utmost of my power — to do and perform 
wisely and well. Hence I did not provide for future 
years, for failing health and exhausted power. But I 
submit: It was not for J. C. Pelton to be rich or famous 
— never a financial success. 

From the foregoing I know it will be generally con- 
ceded that I am (under existing conditions) entitled to 
some generous consideration in connection with my pres- 
ent efforts (I hope, indeed, independent of present circum- 
stances.) And I think it will be conceded that I cannot 
go hungry without feeling that I should not be allowed 
to starve; that I cannot go ragged without feeling that I 
should be clad; that I cannot be roofless without feeling 
that I deserve shelter. I do, indeed, feel as though I 
deserved the kind and helping hand from those whom 
for a lifetime I have delighted to serve. I feel it to be 
due me, not only to exist, but to subsist by present labor, 
outside the Almshouse; and without wasting the little 
mental strength which I have still left, on the problem of 
mere present subsistence, — instead upon the more serious 
question of future existence. I do not consider the above 
as an appeal for charity — it is not so intended. I have 
never made an appeal for charity — except that kind which 
" covers a multitude of sins." Though I am aware that 
others have done so in my behalf — in a most noble and 
generous spirit. 

I trust in God that I may soon see the golden sun- 
beams illuming the dark cloud-banks now hanging over 
the western horizon, giving a seasonable hope for a final 
peaceful sun-setting and a fair sky to-morrow. 



238 



NOTE A. 



I do, however, (though most of the names of my pioneer 
pupils have escaped my memory) still remember the De 
Young brothers, M. H. and Charles; both ambitious and 
zealous students for little fellows, the former always 
smiling; and the Younger brothers — now Drs. William and 
Alexander, and their beautiful little sister; and the 
Ludlow brothers, Charles and William; and J. H. Fergu- 
son and sister. Mr. Ferguson is now publishing the Fresno 
Expositor; he was a smart and interesting boy and is now 
at present an enterprising citizen at Fresno, California; 
and the Thompson brothers, now, I believe, in Oregon; 
the Burke brothers and sisters, good children and of a 
good family; (one of the brothers is now connected with 
the Occidental, one sister now the widow of the late 
Judge Reardon. ) And the Mitchel brothers, William and 
John; — the former was for a long time connected with 
the San Francisco Evening Bulletin, subsequently tax- 
collector of this city, now deceased; the latter is now 
one of the firm of Edward Bosqui & Co., and Lieut. 
John Sheppard now of the San Francisco Custom House- 
Of the eleven hundred and more pupils of the First 
Public School, while under my charge, those whom 
I have named above are, of course, but a small fraction 
of the whole number; but in a general way they indicate 
the character of those composing that Pioneer School, 
whom I am permitted to remember with so much pride 
and pleasure. 

NOTE B. 

Error No. 1. — Not especially important, yet sufficiently 
so to deserve correction. One error only — in John Swett's 
history, to wit: Referring to the "first free public 
school," it is stated: "This school was to be supported 
by voluntary contributions, but was free to indigent chil- 



239 

dren." This may seem but a slight error, yet I nave to 
regard it as sufficiently important for correction, because 
in my first public announcement I distinctly stated my 
purpose to be the organization of a "free public school,' ' 
and in that address occurs this sentence, to wit: "It is 
proposed to admit free of tuition all who may apply," 
etc., etc. To this proposition I rigidly adhered from begin- 
ning to end, and under all circumstances, however em- 
barrassing; for I would not allow either my intentions or 
the character of the school (that school was to be a 
free public school) to be misunderstood; and when some 
patrons kindly sent to me what they supposed would be 
a reasonable tuition, such money was promptly returned 
with the assurance that my school was a free public 
school, consequently tuition fees could not and would not 
be received from any one. 

Error 2. — In years past I have many times been re- 
ferred to as " the founder of public schools," and " father 
of the public school system," etc., in this city and state. 
To this great honor in strict justice I am not entitled ; 
and no one has ever seen such claim above my signature. 
John Swett, after all his life work and distinguished 
service, would not claim so much in his own behalf, nor 
would Hon. J. W. Anderson, the present State Superin- 
tendent, who has also been a life worker and able cham- 
pion of public schools. No one man can in justice make 
such claim, or have it made for him. It is too great a 
distinction to be conferred on any single individual; and 
there has been no historian of our State who has not, or 
who would not sustain me in this opinion. I simply 
inaugurated or introduced the public school upon the 
foundations in the state constitution. 

ERRORS OF HISTORY REGRETTED. 

Error No 3. — Col. T. J. Nevins was appointed superin- 
tendent of schools, April, 1851, by the new "Board" of 



240 

Education, which assumed the place of the former " Com- 
mittee on Education" of a previous board. And he 
(Nevins) continued my work with ability and zeal. He 
was a warm friend of the little family of schools which I 
had assisted in bringing out of early chaos; and he labored 
perseveringly and successfully to multiply, enlarge and 
improve upon, what he found to be little more than an 
embryo system. Mr. Nevins had been my friend and kind 
adviser. He was an old man and he had long before 
been acquainted with public school affairs in Buffalo, 
New York. It was perfectly understood between my old 
friend and myself, when we were drafting the new school 
ordinance, that, at my request, he was assisting me, 
simply aiding me in my work. But the new ordinance 
had scarcely been adopted when I became aware that my 
confidence had been misplaced; and I then learned that, 
as Col. Nevins was the elder and presumably the wiser 
man, I was to be retired and he preferred in my stead. I 
was retired, but only for a season. My old friend was 
scarcely in office, simply going on with my unfinished 
work, when he commenced to overlook (he could not have 
forgotten) all that had been done and accomplished 
before he was in this state; all in fact antedating his 
accession to the superintendency. By some strange per- 
versity of mind, or of heart, or of reason and common 
prudence, or all these; quite at variance with former pro- 
fessions of good-will and disinterested motives, quite 
irreconcilable with probity of intent, or due regard for 
strict truth and facts, right instead of wrong, he persist- 
ently ignored accomplished facts, if he did not seek to 
obliterate them; became blind to indisputable and 
inerasable records, if he did not seek to falsify them. 
Later, Mr. Nevins promised to correct his errors, and 
right wrong so far as he could. But this promise, first 
procrastinated, finally remained forever unkept. And 



241 



this strange conduct on the part of my old friend 
subsequently led some of his friends, and other pretending 
admirers, for personal ends, to continue and exceed even 
his errors. 

A few years later, when the writer was under a tem- 
porary cloud of private spleen and jealousy, personal 
rivalry and political prejudice, these persons not only 
overlooked the writer's previous years of labor, his suc- 
cessful co-efforts in the establishment of the public school 
system in this city and state; but, by inference at least, 
denied that anything had previously been done in this 
connection. This occurred in passing deserved compli- 
ments to a retiring teacher. And a few years later still, 
these ostensible friends of the deceased embraced another 
occasion, and under a precisely similar combination of 
circumstances as to the writer; when they virtually de- 
nied facts of plain veritable record, omitted all honorable 
regard for obvious truth and right, or the public or priv- 
ate interests of others. It was in the matter of procuring 
the Nevins' monument and inventing the inscription on 
the same. With a single dash of the pen they wiped 
from the record all previous educational work, either 
done or attempted by the state constitutional convention; 
by the old San Francisco Ayuntamiento (the Spanish- 
American city government of 1849;) the two following 
city councils; the work of the state legislature of 1850-51, 
as "well as the work of a host of other noble spirited men 
in public office and in private station, by whose combined 
efforts, with those of the writer, the cornerstone of the 
public school system had been successfully laid in prior 
years. 

However, in this connection, there is one consolation 
for trampled right and outraged history: Hon. John Swett 
has written a " History of the Public School System in 
California." No one ever has or ever will dare to ques- 
tion his truthfulness, or gainsay his general statements. 
Those who desire to find and know more fully the 



242 

impartial facts of earliest educational history will find it 
in John Swett's truthful record; and yet, the injustice 
not only as to the writer, but as to all friends of truth 
and justice, is thus only relieved. Mr. Swett's history 
does not correct the records of the board of education of 
this city of 1856, and 1863-'64-'65, nor does it erase the 
false record engraved upon marble.* 

Error No. 4. — Referring to the poem, " My Religion," 
on page 170, and " A Dream," on page 194, I may well 
doubt the importance to the general reader as to what 
may be " my religion," or " my dreams " regarding reli- 
gious facts or religious philosophy. Yet some readers 
there may be who will query as to what may be or what 
may not be the religion of the author; or if he has, or 
professes any discipleship whatsoever. To such honest 
inquiry I would frankly and regretfully say: " I have no 
church; I have no creed," no dogma, no faith, no settled 
religious opinion or philosophy to " soothe the heart," or 
" strengthen the hand." Only " hope and trust "; a dim 
and unsatisfactory vision, a wistful, longing query as to 
the future of the soul. " I would indeed some lightening 
ray would fall upon my path"; for I do not at all enjoy 
this standing all " alone," unsupported amid the battle of 
life, — sustained only by the " hope and trust " that in 
God's mercy the outcome, or finale of human existence, 
when or wherever reached, will bear harmonious relation 
with the character of God, — the Creator, the Preserver, 
the Omnipotent, and the Eternal. In other words we 
believe in God; and that He is as merciful as He is just, 
— benignant as almighty. We vastly prefer our senti- 
ments to Atheism; but we admit that we are only in 
accord with the scarcely assured, if not visionary, convic- 
tions of Socrates and Plato. We are optimists, certainly, 
and cheerfully accept the inevitable in all things. We 
are more agnostic than infidel; a Platonist, perhaps, 
rather than a Christian. Like those above pioneers of 

*See inscription on T. J. Nevins' monument. 



243 

Christianity we wistfully look and watch and wait, and 
oft longingly sigh for " who shall show us the true way to 
God and Heaven." Even more, we believe in Christ as 
the intermediator, the true teacher, the profoundly wise 
and holy philosopher; and yet, as to "church" and 
" creed " we stand regretfully "alone"; perhaps, some- 
where midway between the appalling abyss of Atheism 
and moral chaos, and the scarcely less unenviable state 
of bigotry and fanaticism. 

I have also most regretfully to say that I am a member 
of no order, society or fraternity whatsoever; and am sup- 
ported by no recognized ties, none whatever except those 
existing between myself and my little family. 

3'm 67 

QH ! the on-speeding years were three score and seven ! 

Or is ill, or is well ? 'Tis the will of Heaven 
That another twelve moons to us are given. 

A little lower still boweth my head, 
A little slower and faltering my tread, 
A few more tears and pleasures are fled. 

We're still mid the world's unevenly strand, 
Are still mid its wastes — oft in wearisome sands ; 
Yet hopeful is my heart, still busy my hands. 

A.ye ! still do we laugh, and yet do we sigh, 

As our hopes like the on-speeding shadowlets fly ; 

And still do we look for that goal 'yond the sky. 

And this is our world, and these are our years ! 

Ah ! the hurry and the worry ! How often the tears ! 

And yet blessed Hope still lendeth her cheers. 

Ah ! this storm of to-day — how darkened the skies ; 
How the clouds overhang with their tearfullest eyes ! 
Yet we know they're but phantoms — as quickly shall fly. 

Aye, we know that the.'shadow soon passeth away — 
All the winds and the storms are things of a day. 
Through a rift in the cloud soon the sunbeams play, 
And shall lighten and cheer us still upward our way. 
San Francisco, January 27, 1893. 



244 



LIFE S SUNBEAMS AND SHADOWS. 

As to life's sunbeams and shadows, it may be sugges- 
tively remarked as to any individual, that these are 
traceable to, and probably for the most part are explained 
by, pre-natal conditions and the surroundings of early 
childhood; no doubt, wisely sent and duly blended by a 
beneficent power, yet beyond our comprehension and 
conception. 

And it is to be presumed that all lives, whether of the 
illustrious or of the lowly, have more or less of fair skies, 
and of cloud and storm. It is when these, or either of 
these, are observed to be excessive that the life of any 
man or woman becomes of special interest, either gratify- 
ing to the curious, or instructive to the thoughtful. And 
as to the lessons to be learned, or the diversion to be 
obtained from the study of any personal history, it really 
matters very little whether it be that of a high-born and 
fortune-blest, or of a low-born and fate-accursed. I dare 
to say that it is the amount of achievements, or of efforts 
in that direction — the glory and its consequence, or the 
conspicuous failure and its disaster, which invests any 
biography with special interest, or gives it any consider- 
able value as a study. As to my own life it has been 
unlike that of most men; yet of no grave importance 
except to the liver. I well know that mine has been a 
life of unusual coloring; peculiarly and remarkably 
checkered; full of episodes; exceedingly party-colored, — 
made up of sunbeams and shadows; so much so, indeed, 
that I dare to think something may be learned from it, 
humble though it has been. The young may find in it 
some examples to follow, some ambitions and achieve- 
ments to emulate, as well as errors to avoid. u Never too 
late to learn " is a trite maxim, but undoubtedly a wise 
one. And though somewhat advanced in years, I am still 
endeavoring to learn from the past something to strengthen 
effort and encourage hope in the future. My retrospect 



245 



is not altogether satisfactory, nor is a glance forward full 
of assurance, yet a present survey over the whole battle- 
field gives me hope of a final victory, — unless the shadows 
of night too early arrest a further struggle. 

In the review to which I have above referred, I find 
much to regret, much that I would recall if I could. I see 
many errors and mistakes which I certainly should 
endeavor to correct, or avoid, if I had the privilege or 
opportunity of living life over again; to wit: I regret that 
in earlier life I was not more just to myself; that in the 
heyday of youth and vigorous manhood I did not make a 
little more hay for myself without neglect of duty to 
others; that I did not exercise a wiser forecast, and fortify 
myself against the adverse incidents and accidents, as 
well as life's serious misfortunes which have over- 
taken me, and which may overtake any man, and which 
all wise men should provide against, especially as old 
age with its infirmities is certain and inevitable. But 
here my most agreeable, nay happy reflection, is this: 
that during my whole life I do recall neither a day nor 
an hour, wherein I have knowingly shut my eyes to the 
interest of others by endeavoring to advance my own. 



246 



©ur Solace 

y^HEN clouds enwreath the mountain crest, 
All nature changes smiles to frown 
And furies wreath our thorny crown, 
May this reflection sweet be ours : 

We've done our best ! 

And when our sun goes final down 

Beneath the ocean's breast, 

There hides his kindly golden face, 
While phantoms o'er the billows chase, 

Ma j' this reflection still be ours : 

We've doiie our best ! 

Whate'er betides at fate's behest — 

If be our journey mid the storm, 

Our way beset with rose or thorn, 
May this reflection still be ours : 

We've done our best ! 

When we from toil and struggle rest — 
Freed from life's conflicts, from its din, 
Its noisy strife, its sorrows, sin, 

May this sweet solace e'er be ours : 

That we have done our best ! 




FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH AND FIRST PUBLIC SCHOOL 
IN CALIFORNIA- -1819. 



A RECORD OF 

pioneer !pu6fic gc^oof ©Y^ orfe 
in (§>aPij?omia 

As Shown by Official Documents, etc. 



HISTORICAL RECORD. 

(1) The first public announcement regarding the establishment of 
Free Public Schools in this state was made by J. C. Pelton in Daily 
Pacific News, December 3, 1849. 

(2) On February 20th following in Common Council " a commun- 
ication was received from J. C. Pelton stating his designs in regard to 
establishing Free Common Schools, and urging municipal action. " 

(3) The first Committee on Education in the Spanish- American 
Ayuntamiento (Town Council), was appointed upon the suggestion of 
J. C. Pelton. 

(4) The first resolution and the first ordinance regarding Public 
Schools, their organization and regulation, was proposed at suggestion 
and request of J. C. Pelton. 

(5) And the first city land in San Francisso set apart for Public 
School uses was so set apart at his suggestion. 

(6) As to the first School Law placed upon the statute books of 
California, I beg to refer to letters of T. J. Nevins, Wm. C. Hoff, and 
ex-Governor John McDougal, in this Appendix. 

(7) As to origin of the second state school law, see Mr. Swett's 
History. 

(8) The first Free Public School in California was established and 
taught by J. C. Pelton. 

(9) The first Public School Report in this state will be found among 
the dusty archives of San Francisco over the signature of J. C. Pelton, 
made to the Common Council, May 4, 1850. 



248 

(10) The first Public School seal for the county of San Francisco 
ha3 the name of the writer beneath it3 impression. 

(11) The writer was the first elected County Superintendent of 
Common Schools in San Francisco, and by virtue of the first " Consol- 
idation Act " became the first City and County Superintendent of the 
city and county of San Francisco. (This robs no one of deserved 
laurels.) 

(12) I appointed the first Public School Trustees, and aided in 
organizing the first schools in San Mateo, then a part of San Francisco. 

(13) The writer with others urged the establishment of the first 
Reform School in California; was one of the first Trustees, and after 
its organization (by himself), was its first Superintendent. 

(14) The Cosmopolitan Schools in San Francisco were organized by 
the writer upon a model which he had demonstrated to be a most 
gratifying success in an experimental school established and conducted 
at his own expense. 

(15) During the writer's Public School experience in San Francisco 
he has been twice Superintendent of the city schools — two and a half 
years Superintendent of the San Francisco Industrial School; Principal 
of the Washington Street School, the Lincoln, the Rincon, Bush street 
and Hyde street; twenty -four years' experience, including vacations 
and travel for the State Reform School. But twenty-nine years of 
Public School and similar active work finally found me wrecked in 
health, and a financial zero. 

(16) The re-organization of the San Francisco Industrial in 1869-72, 
was the added — not "feather which broke the camel's back" — but moun- 
tain that put a finale to my educational work, and completed physical 
and irretrievable prostration. 



FROM THE PRESS OF 1849-51 

(From the Alia California (Editorial), Feb. 7, 1851. J 
Education in San Francisco. — We visited yesterday the school of 
Mr. J. C. Peltonand wife, now keptinthe Baptist Chapel on Washing- 
ton street. The school is made up of about one hundred and sixty 
little boys and girls, between the ages of four and fifteen, and gathered 
from every portion of the civilized world. 

******** 

Mr. Pelton commenced the school in the month of December, 1849, 
with three scholars. No provision had been made for its support, 
and Mr. Pelton supported it from his own pocket and the donations 
of friends till April in the following year, when the Town Council 
voted him a salary of five hundred dollars a month for its support. 
From that time to this, the school has been flourishing, so far as suc- 
cess in education is concerned. Still, Mr. Pelton is obliged to pay all 



249 

current expenses from his own pocket, receiving his pay in city scrip. 
The school is entirely a puhlic one, no charge having been made to 
parents for the instruction of their children. 

****** 

Some action ought to be taken by our City Council, in our present 
unsettled state, for the permanent continuance of this school. 

****** 

We sincerely hope that the highly meritorious plans of Mr. Pelton 
and his wife will not be allowed to fail for want of proper support 
from our municipal government. 

For several months, Mr. Pelton supported the school entirely from 
his own funds and labor, receiving nothing in return. * * 

After a while, the Council came most generously to his support, 
voting for the labor of himself and his lady the munificent sum of five 
hundred dollars in city scrip, id est, two hundred and fifty dollars 
each per month for performing the most wearisome labor to be found 
in the whole round of manual and mental slavery. They were educat- 
ing the city's children, working every day, and were voted less by the 
Council for their labor than any good cook about town was receiving. 
This five hundred dollars in scrip is now worth to Mr. Pelton one 
hundred and sixty-two dollars in cash. His expenses, meanwhile 
being one hundred and eighty dollars per month, besides the labor of 
himself and wife. While the Council voted him this pittance for 
laboring twenty-six days, all day, they voted themselves, for two 
hours work, weekly, a salary of twice the amount. * 

Mr. Pelton's school now numbers between one and two hundred 
scholars — about one hundred and forty-five, we understand — none of 
whom pay him anything. He is obliged to employ assistance, which 
absorbs all that he receives from the city. Nothing comes from the 
State. He has exhausted nearly all his own means in his most philan- 
thropic labors, and unless some measures be taken the undertaking so 
praiseworthy must close for want of support. We cite this case to 
show that the Legislature cannot move too soon in this matter. The 
cause of education is suffering by their delay. Let it be remedied as 
soon as possible. 

[From Alta California, Feb. 28th, 1851.] 

Public Schools and Instruction. — There is a free school in this 
city, under the charge of Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Pelton, whose public 
spirit and love for the rising generation are worthy of all praise. They 
commenced this school some Jifteeii montlis since. 

[From the Alta California, March 1st, 1851.1 
Public School Statistics. — We have received from Mr. and Mrs. 
J. C. Pelton the following report, containing some very interesting 
statistics, (for these Statistics see Index Statistics) of the public school 



250 

taught by them in this place. They exhibit a curiously mixed popula- 
tion in our good city. They exhibit a good feeling and desire for the 
education of their children among all classes amongst us; and more 
than all, they exhibit an interest — an application, on the part of the 
teachers, who have forced their way over almost insurmountable difficul- 
ties, such as is seldom found in this gold-seeking country. 

[From the Alta California, (Editorial,) March 3d, 1851.1 

Children and Education in California. — Where fifteen months 
since, the sweet voice of childhood, its ringing laugh, and merry 
chatter, was a sound as scarce as pleasant, hundreds of gamboling 
boys and girls are now seen and heard, making their echoes dance 
again. 

Mr. Pelton urges the establishment of more Free Public Schools. 
[From the California Courier, March 1st, 1851.] 

The Public Schools. — We are happy to hear that the appeals 
made through the press on Friday, in behalf of the [Mr. Pelton's] 
Public School, have aroused a proper feeling in the community on the 
subject. 

[From the Alta California, (Editorial,) March 13th, 1851.] 

Justice to the Deserving. — Almost a year and half ago, Mr. J. C. 
Pelton and his excellent lady commenced a free school in this city. 
To it they devoted time, talents and money. They taught and sup- 
ported the school entirely at their own expense for four months. Last 
April, they were allowed for their united labors $500 per month, in 
city scrip, certainly not a very high salary if paid in cash. Mr. Pelton 
has expended for current expenses of the school about $900. He has 
lost on the scrip $3,700. To raise means for continuing the school he 
has mortgaged his house and lot, besides expending all his other 



His ambition has been a noble one, his efforts untiring, his reward 
disappointment and pecuniary difficulties, if not ruin. His wife has 
taught and suffered in common with her husband, until nerves and 
mind can endure the toil and anxiety no longer. 

We will not dwell upon this painful subject. These facts the public 
should know, that it may know how to act, in view of Mr. Pelton's 
exigencies. He and his lady have acted with as much philanthropy 
as the great Howard, and we have confidence enough in the correct 
feeling of the people to believe that they will do for him what the 
Council of the city has not yet done, and we fear will not do. 

[From the California, (Editorial,) March 14, 1851.] 
A Word with the People. — We ask the earnest attention of every 
good citizen to a few words upon a subject of vital interest, not only 
to the people collectively, but of paramount individual importance. 



251 



This subject, unfortunately, amid the press of business, has escaped 
the serious attention of the greater portion of our citizens. There 
have been some among us, however, who appreciating the importance 
of the field, have striven earnestly for its cultivation. Foremost 
among these, were Mr. J. C. Pelton, and his excellent lady, who com- 
menced a free school in this city a year and a half ago. To it they 
have devoted time, talent, energy, health and money, with a self- 
sacrificing spirit rarely equalled. For several months they supported 
their school entirely at their own expense. In April last, the City 
Council voted them a small salary, paid in city scrip. This he cannot 
dispose of at any price worth naming. He has been compelled in some 
instatices to pay an amount of interest on money for the use of the 
school more than equal to the value of the scrip. Still they have 
struggled on. Hundreds of children have received daily instruction 
at their hands. To the fond expectation that our City Fathers would 
realize the hopes held out to him, Mr. Pelton has mortgaged his 
dwelling-house, and expended all his other means, for the purpose of 
carrying on the good work. ***** 

Citizens of San Francisco, this is no fancy sketch. We have had 
personal opportunity to witness the praiseworthy efforts of these public 
spirited individuals. We know that they deserve some other reward 
than ruin. Shall they not have it? Shall the tidings be sent to the 
Atlantic and to Europe, that San Francisco, with its millionaires and 
all its boasted wealth, permits so shameful a desertion of the self- 
sacrificing school-teachers ! 

[From the Public Balance, (Leader,) March 14th, 1851.1 
Mr. J. C. Pelton, some eighteen months since established a school 
which he intended as the foundation of a system of popular education 
in this city. * * * * * 

[From the California Courier, (Editorial,) March 18th, 1851.1 
Mr. Pelton's School.— Of one thing we are certain, that if 
devotion, sacrifice, and persevering effort can accomplish anything, 
Mr. Pelton and his lady will never abandon the cause they have so 
zealously espoused. 

[From the San Francisco Whlj, 1852. By Lewis R. Lull, Editor, still 

a resident of San Francisco.] 

MR. J. C. PELTON AND THE FREE SCHOOLS OF SAN 

FRANCISCO 

To no person is this city so much indebted for its free school system 
as to the gentleman whose name heads this article. We well remem- 
ber his arduous efforts in 1849 in the cause of education, and the 



252 

untiring energy lie displayed in establishing the first public school in 
California, and, indeed, on the Pacific coast. Without the aid of the 
then Ayuntamiento or the citizens, surrounded by a community whose 
only aim wa3 to amass wealth for the pocket instead of the mind, did 
this gentleman plant the seed from which has grown our present 
system of schools— a system destined in a few years to equal that of 
any State in the confederacy. Mr. Pelton expended his time and 
his money from November, 1849, to April, 1850, without hope or 
expectation of reward. In the latter month his school was established 
as a city school by the action of the Ayuntamiento, and the small sum 
of $500 per month for himself and wife was voted as his salary, and 
this was paid in scrip, which depreciated to such an extent that he 
was obliged to dispose of most of it at 30 [60] per cent discount. From 
this time to August, 1851, a period of nearly two years, this gentleman 
and his accomplished lady labored assiduously for the education of 
our j'outh, having at one time under their immediate tuition, over 
three hundred scholars, and in the whole period more than eleven 
hundred. The pay received for these services was a miserable pit- 
tance, always in scrip, which frequently became almost worthless. 
We enter minutely into details, because we desire that this whole 
community should know how much they are indebted to Mr. Pelton 
and his wife, and also for the purpose of introducing another person 
to the notice of the public. 

After the heat and burthen of the day had been undergone by these 
pioneers in the establishment of schools in this city, Mr. T. J. Nevins, 
the agent of the American Tract Society, their colporteur, bookseller, 
and minister, was appointed superintendent of San Francisco schools. 
This gentleman, for aught we know, has performed the duties of his 
office satisfactorily enough, but with a certain degree of arrogance 
and self-glorification which the following quotation from his late 
annual report well exemplifies : 

" At the close of the first year of the Free Common School enter- 
prise in this city [! !], the Superintendent takes the liberty to express his 
grateful appreciation of the kindness, confidence and urbanity with 
which he has been treated by the members of the Board of Education 
from first to last, and of the readiness of the Board to adopt any 
measures within the means at their disposal for the promotion of the 
best interests of the public schools." 

Now, the first part of this sentence is exceedingly modest. Mr. 
Nevins seems to have forgotten that he is only an eleventh hour man, 
and that the principal praise is due to another who established 
common schools more than a year before him. He seems to have 
forgotten Mr. Pelton altogether. This is in rather had taste for the 
Superintendent, because most of the readers of his report know by 
whose exertions our first schools were organized. We have not the 



253 

pleasure of Mr. Nevins' acquaintance, and can be actuated by no ill 
will toward him. Our only object in making the above remarks is to 
bestow praise where it is due. 

FKOM THE PRESS OF LATER DATES 

[From the Times and Transcript, Sept. 4th, 1855.] 

* Mr. Pelton is entitled to the honor of being 

called the " Founder of Free Schools on the Pacific.'' * * His was 
the first school opened in San Francisco ; and to it, the few children 
then here, resorted without money and without price. By the aid of 
some philanthropists, in part, but more particularly by the untiring 
exertions of himself and wife, he was enabled to build up a monument 
which is now a pride to, but will hereafter become the glory, of our 
State. 

[From the San Francisco Directory for 1858.1 

Education and the Public Schools. — Prominent among the early 
friends of Sau Francisco were Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Pelton, who, as it 
appears, left Boston, Mass., in the early part of 1849 ; and (strange as 
it then appeared to those unacquainted with them, or the real motives 
that prompted their acts,) with the object of establishing here on the 
"far-off shores of the Pacific," a free Public School on the New 
England plan. 

[From Hutching's California Magazine, June, 1859, page 576.] 
Free Schools in California. — One fact that should ever be kept 
in grateful remembrance by the friends of the young in California is 
this: Mr. Pelton Jias the honor of being the founder of the first School in 
California, nearly ten years ago ; and one of the most pleasing features 
of the Festival* was that of a young lady, who being one of the three 
pupils of Mr. Pelton's first school, having completed her studies 
stepped forward and presented to the school a beautiful silk banner, 
the work of her own hands, as a memorial of her grateful esteem. 
Such events must have struck deep into the heart of their earnest 
teacher, as in language the most forcible and impressive they whis- 
pered, "these are thy rewards," 

[From the Home Journal, May, 1S60.] 
Mr. Pelton has been in California eleven years, where he has been 
the constant advocate and zealous supporter of the cause of education 
during the whole term of his residence, which of course dates from 
the early pioneer times. 

[From the Herald, May 5th, I860.] 
Last night the many friends and pupils of Mr. J. C. Pelton thronged 
the re-union, got up in compliment to that gentleman at Tucker's 

* May-Day Festival of Hyde Street School, 1859.— J. C. P. 



254 

Academy of Music. lb was a well-merited compliment to a gentleman 
who has the credit of being the first public school teacher in Califor- 
nia, and one whose services have been indorsed by the Legislature of 
his State in making him superintendent of the Reform School. 

[From the San Francisco Herald, May 9th, 1860.J 
Proceedings of the Board of Education — Resignation of Mr. J. 

C. Pelton. — The following preamble and resolutions were unanimously 

adopted: 

Whereas, Mr. J. C. Pelton, who has been for more than ten years 

connected with the Public Schools of the City and County of San 

Francisco, has resigned from the department; therefore, 
Resolved, <L-c, <fcc. 

MEMORANDUM OF ACTION OF CITY GOVERNMENT AND 
EARLY PAPERS ON FILE IN THE PUBLIC ARCHIVES 

1849 

First paper, September 6th. — A petition of Rev. A. Williams, "Rec- 
tor of Public School,'' addressed to the "Honorable Ayuntamiento of 
the municipality of San Francisco," asking for the use "of the building 
hnmon as the Public Institute (?) for the purpose of holding a Public 
School," and also asking the Council "to authorize the payment of 
five dollars per month for each and every pupil regularly attending 
the said school, allowing the undersigned the liberty to make an 
additional charge to each scholar, according to the grade of studies 
pursued," &c, &c. No action appears in reference to this "proposi- 
tion." 

[On iny arrival in October, I heard nothing of the above.— J. C. P.] 

1850 

Second. January 11th. (Action in Council,) — On motion of Col. 
Stewart, it was "Resolved that a Committee of five members of this 
Council be added to the standing committee, which shall be called the 
Committee on Education, to whom shall be referred all matters re- 
lating to Common Schools and Public Education." — At the request of 
J. C. Pelton. 

[I had consulted with Col. Stewart. He conceived this the first proper 
step, as it proved to be.— J. C. P.] 

Third. February 11. In common Council, a report from Com- 
mittee on Education, H. C. Murray, Chairman — "was read and accept- 
ed " recommending the establishment of a Public School. — At the 
request of J. C. Pelton. 

This action was preceded by a recommendation of various pro- 
minent citizens : O. C. Wheeler, W. D. M. Howard and others. 



255 

Fourth. Feb. 20th. In Council. — A communication from J. C. 
Pelton, stating his designs in regard to establishing free Public Schools, 
was submitted by Committee on Education with recommendation in 
favor of action on the part of city authorities for the establishment of 
Public Schools. 

Fifth. March 4th. In Council. — A petition from O. C. Wheeler 
and others, asking for the adoption of the School in Baptist Church, 
received and referred to Committee on Education. 

Sixth. March 11th. In Council. — Committee on Education, by H. 
C. Murray, Chairman, reported an "ordinance" providing that " one 
square of land be and the same is hereby granted and appropriated," 
&c, &c, "for the support of a free academy, to be called the San 
Francisco Free Academy." (From the preamble — "the general diffu- 
sion of knowledge — the palladium of civil liberty, and the surest 
pledge of lasting prosperity to a people," &c.) 

[This communication was addressed to the City Council, after several con- 
ferences with Judge Murray, at my suggesiion and earnest request.— J. C. P.] 

Seventh. 20. (?) In Council.— An elaborate paper from H. C. 
Murray of the Committee on Education was read, urging in strong 
terms that immediate action be taken in the "cause of popular educa- 
tion.'" Not one dollar he said, had the city yet bestowed upon this the 
city's most important interest, while hundreds of thousands had 
flowed freely from the public treasury for almost every other conceiv- 
able object. 

This communication again recommended the appropriation of lots, 
and block of land, to be kept leased or sold exclusively for the benefit 
of "popular education." It referred to the merits of the school kept 
by J. C. Pelton, in the Baptist chapel, commended the enterprise, and 
asked of the Council its consideration of this school, and the whole 
subject matter of Public Schools. This able communication was made 
at the earnest request of J. C. Pelton. 

Eighth. March 28. In Council. — The following resolution (by Tal- 
bot H. Green) was unanimously adopted: 

"Resolved. That from the first day of April, a. d. 1850, John C. Pelton and 
Mrs. Pelton his wife, be employed as teachers for the Public School in the 
Baptist Church, which has been offered to the Council free of charge, and 
that the average number of scholars shall not exceed one hundred; and that 
they shall be entitled to a monthly salary, during the pleasure of the Council, 
of five hundred dollars per month, payable each and every month." 

Ninth. March 2Sth. In Council. — " On motion of Mr. Graham, 
the Committee on Education were instructed to prepare an ordinance 
for the regulation of said (the above) school." 

Tenth. April 8th. In Council. — The Committee on Education 
reported an " ordinance for the regulation of Common Schools," as 
follows : 



256 

1st. Be it ordained by the Common Council of San Francisco, That from 
and after the passage of this Act it shall be the duty of J. C. Pelton, who has 
been employed by the Council as a public teacher, to open a school in the 
Baptist Chapel. 

2d. Said school shall be opened from half-past 8 a. m. to 12 M., and from 2 p. 
m. until 5 p. m. and shall continue open from Monday until Friday at 5 
o'clock, p. M. 

3d. The number of scholars shall not exceed the number of one hundred; 
and no scholar shall be admitted under the age of four, or over the age of 
sixteeu. 

4th. All persons desirous of having their children instructed in said school 
shall first obtain an order from the Chairman of the Committee on Education, 
and all children obtaining said order shall be instructed in said school free 
of charge. 

5th. It shall be the duty of said Pelton to report to the Council on the first 
of each and every month the number of scholars and the progress of said 
school. 

H. C. MORRAY. 

F. TlLFORD. 

Eleventh. May 4th. In Council. — The report of J. C. Pelton, 
(the first Public School Report on record in this city,) was read and 
placed on file. 



He^fimorjiafxt aT^b ©orre^poniLence 

THE BEGINNING OF STATE LEGISLATION 

To Messrs. Badger, Pope and Lunt, Committee on Origin Public 
Schools : 

Gentlemen, — In answer to your circular, I beg to say : The attempt 
which has been made to place the laurels which Mr. J. C. Pelton has 
so justly earned, as the founder and the first to introduce the Public 
School system on the Pacific Coast, upon the brow of another, seems 
to demand of those intimate and cognizant of the facts connected with 
that gentleman's early efforts in the matter, such expressions as will 
make history a truthful record. 

Having taken an active part, as a member of the Constitutional 
Convention in 1849, in laying the material superstructure for a liberal 
system of common school education in this State, I have been led to 
watch, with much solicitude, the first efforts to carry out the objects con- 
templated by the constitution ; and Mr. Pelton in 1849, was the vei~y first 
to publish his intention of opening a "Free Public School" in this 
city ; and I well remember the sympathies expressed and the anxiety 
manifested by those who looked upon California as their permanent 
home, as to the difficulties he was encountering, and the subsequent 
results, in this the first effort to establish the Common School system 
in our then embryo condition. During the session of the legislature, 
at San Jose, in 1850-1, Mr. Pelton was there several weeks, assisting 
the members in the perfection of a school law, which to this day 
stands without material alteration, as the one now governing our 



257 

school system ; and he was then regarded as its principal author and 

originator, for he alone labored solely for this purpose. 

JOHN McDOUGAL. 

[Gov. of California in 1850-51.] 

[In the archives of the Board of Education of San Francisco, there are one 
hundred or more testimonials of the same tenor and character as the fore- 
going from ex-Governor McDougal and other gentlemen.— J. C. P.J 

Dr. A. Randall: [Assembly.] 

Dear Sir, — The bearer, Mr. J. C. Pelton, is the principal of the 
school first established in this city, and has sustained it from the 
beginning at great sacrifice and with distinguished ability. He is 
anxious to get the best possible school system adopted, and now visits 
the Capital in connection with that object ; and any facility you may 
be able to afford him in bringing his views and suggestions to the notice 
of the members of the Legislature will, I have no doubt, tend to the 
promotion of the best interests of popular education. He proposes 
some amendments to Mr. Heydenfeldt's bill, which he will explain to 

* * # * * * 

you. 

Yours, in haste, 

T. J. NEVINS. 

fFrom a letter from the Hon James Wilson, to J. C. Pelton in 1857.] 
I know nothing in relation to the schools of this city in 1849, having 
arrived here on the thirty-first day of October, 1850. I did not come 
ashore from the steamer until the morning of November 1st, 1850. Not 
long after my arrival, I observed one day a procession of school 
children passing along Kearny street and crossing the Plaza at the 
corner of Clay street. The matter excited my observation, and I 
remarked at the time that the gentleman and lady who were engaged 
in that enterprise, were more important persons than all the office 
holders in the State of California, and were doing more for the public 
weal and future prosperity of the State, than all the rest put together. 
I am of the same opinion still. That little procession, which I then 
observed, was under the conduct and direction of yourself and your 
good lady. May God prosper you in the noble enterprise. 

JAMES WILSON. 

[From the Hon J. J. Warner, of Los Angeles, a member of the Senate in 
1850-51, and of several Legislatures succeeding, and a member of the 
Assembly during the session of 1860-61. Extract from a letter to J. C. 
Pelton, when about visiting the Atlantic States, in I860.] 
"The deep interest and untiring zeal displayed by you in creating our 
free school system, since your first arrival in California, and the volun- 
tary assistance which, in 1851, you gave to the Legislature in forming 
the school laws of California, together with your continued efforts in 
perfecting and carrying into practical operation the systems of public 
schools of this State, has placed not only the State, but the rising as 
well as the future^ generations of California, under many and deep 
obligations to you. 



258 

Having been an inmate of your family in the year 1849, and an eye- 
witness to your severe struggles in maintaining a Free Common School, 
it seems to me an act of simple justice, not only to yourself but to the 
public, to declare the same. 

Your grand object and aim was, as I was informed by yourself, to 
establish free schools in this city, and in California ; and in order to 
accomplish this most honorable enterprise, many other persons besides 
myself, can remember how many sacrifices and deprivations you sub- 
mitted to. It seemed at that time wonderful how a man with a 
family and limited means, could undertake and carry through such an 
enterprise, in the face of so many obstacles which presented themselves 
to be met and overcome. But your devotion to the cause of education 
carried you through, and whatever may have been the merit of others, 
I think you deserve the credit of having established the first Free 
Common School in San Francisco. " 

J. J. WARNER. 

J. C. Pelton, Esq. 

San Francisco, April 15, 1851. 
His Excellency John McDougal : 

Sir, — Allow me to introduce to you Mr. J. C. Pelton, who may be 
justly termed the Pioneer upon education in this new State. He visits 
the capital upon subjects connected therewith. 

Any assistance you may render him will be duly appreciated by 
Your obedient servant, 

WM, C. HOFF. 

[From Gen. John W. Geary, American Alcalde, and First American 
Mayor of San Francisco; Governor of Pennsylvania, and Major- 
General U. S. A.] 
Headquarters Second Division, 

City of Atlanta, Ga., Nov. 4, 1864. 
Wm. G. Badger and others : 

Gentlemen, — I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of 
your communication of June — . 

In reply, I will state that the first Public School of which I have 
any knowledge, in the city of San Francisco, was commenced in the 
autumn of 1849; it was established by the authority of the " Ayunta- 
miento," and paid for out of the City Treasury. It was taught by Mr. 
J. C. Pelton, at a salary the amount of which I cannot now remember; 
but full information can be gleaned from the Journal of Ayuntamiento, 
which I suppose is extant. 

With high respect, your obedient servant, 

JNO. W. GEARY. 



259 

Consulate of U. S. of America, Aspinwall,Col'm., Jan. 25, 1865. 
Wm. E. Badger, J. E. Pope, D. Lunt, Committee : 

Gentlemen, — In response to the question propounded in the first 
paragraph of your note, I answer that the credit of having inaugurated 
the Free School System in San Francisco belongs, in my opinion, to 
J. C. Pelton, Esq. 

I cannot give the precise date on which the First Free School was 
opened in San Francisco ; but I recollect well the school of Mr. Pelton 
in the Old Baptist Chapel, in the latter part of 1849, or the early part 
of 1850, and it is my firm belief that the school of Mr. Pelton was the 
first one opened in San Francisco, and was taught by himself. 
I am, very respectfully, your obd't serv't, 

FRANCIS W. RICE. 

Aspinwall, Jan. 26, 1865. 
My Dear Sir : — * * I never doubted that the 

people of California owe you a heavy debt of gratitude for your efforts 
in behalf of the "rising generation " ; especially when the many great 
discouragements under which you labored at the early period of your 
task, are taken into consideration. 

With great regard, 

FRANCIS W. RICE. 

PIONEER PUPILS OF THE FIRST PUBLIC SCHOOL 

Willie Evans and sister. 

Fred Walton and sister, now Mrs Wilkins of the Asylum of Deaf 

Mutes. 
Willie Weimer, the mother of whom washed the golden grains for 

John Marshall, at the Sutter-mill, Coloma. 
George Kimball; Mary Kimball. 
William Pierson and sister. 
William and Mary Gallagher. 
William and Samuel Shear. 
William Galloway and sister. 
James Eager, brother of the late senator. 
Geo. M. Ciprico the actor, and his sister Anita. 
Wm McCabe, son of the pioneer actor. 
The Russ brothers, of the old Russ House. 
Clay M. Greene, the play writer and composer. 
The De Young brothers, Chas and M. H., and sister. 
The Younger brothers, Drs Wm and Alexander, and sister. 
The Thomson brothers. 
The Murray brothers and sisters. 

The Burke brothers and sisters, all still living in San Francisco. 
The Mitchel brothers, William and John, of Ed. Bosqui & Co. 
Henry and Mary Lee. 
N. C. Lane and sister. 
Cornelius Makin, and sister Rachel. 
J. [H. Ferguson, editor and proprietor of Fresno Expositor ; and 

sister. 



260 

PIONEER FRIENDS OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS 

(By acts, votes and friendly influence.) 
Dr. W. Ayer, J. W. Bingham, Harvey S. Brown, T. A. Barry, J. 

B. Badger, Wm. G. Badger, John Cotter, M. Calkin, Dr. Benj. Coit, 
T. B. Cunningham, Wm. B. Cooke, C. D. Carter, Alex. Campbell, 
James Denman, John S. Ellis, R. S. Eells, Ed Franklin, Wm Fell, 
N. P. Perine, B. H. Freeman, T. W. Freelon, Dr. W. A. Grover, 
T. H. Green, Capt. Wm. Galloway, Giles H. Gray, Gen. J. W. Geary, 
Wm. Green, Dr. H. S. Gates, Dr. S. R. Harris, N. Holland*, Geo. B. 
Hitchcock, Henry M. Hale, J. D. Hayes, 0. B. Huff, Gen. W. C. 
Kibbe, F..D. Kohler, Dr. C. C. Knowles, Daniel Lunt, N. C. Lane, 
Louis R. Lull, Capt. J. Ludlow, Joseph E. Lawrence, Jacob P. 
Leese, H. C. Murray, J. A. McGlynn, John Middleton, T. J. Nevinst, 
Dr. Benj. Ober, W. H. O'Grady, C. M. K. Paulinson, John F. Pope, 
Ex-Aid. E. P. Peckham, Jerome Rice, J. L. Riddle, John SwettJ, 
Rev. N. Colver, F. P. Fitts, Joseph F. Atwill, J. W. Anderson**, 
G. W. Green, Wm. Hooper, Hon. Jas A. McDougall, Ex-Gov. J. Mc. 
Dougall, Frank M. Pixley, R. C. Page, C. L. Ross, Judge F. Tilford, 
Rev. 0. C. Wheeler, W. H. J. Brooks, C. S. Biven, R. Biven, D. C. 
Stone, Thorber Christian, Ed. Connor, Dr. H. DeGroot, W. B. Far- 
well, William W. Gallagher, Dr. H. Gibbons, Hon. John Wilson, 
Wm. C. Hoff, B. F. Hillard, Wm. Hueffner, John S. Hittelb 
Henry B. Livingston, J. Q. Adams, Deacon S. Adams, J. C. Bell, F. 
A. Bonnard, Mrs. M. F. Ball, Wm. H. Brown, Charles Brown, J. D. 
Bristol, Hon. John Curry, Wm. T. Coleman, Dr. H. D. Cogswell, 
Eugene Casserly, Charles H. Cushing, H. B. Carleton, J. G. Dow, 
Daniel Giraud, A. D. Hatch, Madison Hawes, Hon. S. C. Hastings, 

C. A. Howard, H. M. Hale, C. Hyatt, James Hughes, Geo. T. Knox, 
Hazen Kimball, C. P. Kimball, A. Louderback, A. A. Louderback, 
Davis Louderback, Mrs. James Ludlow, D. H. T. Mosse, Horace 
Hawes, G. H. Peck, S. D. Stone, Col. J. D. Stevenson, P. M. Scooffy, 
R. H. Waller, H. J. Wells, Alfred Wheeler, Dr. Wm. Younger, W. 
O. Andrews, James J. Ayres, H. Channing Beals, James Cooley, W. 
W. Chipman, JohnO. Eldridge, Dr. James Edwards, James Gallagher, 
Capt. Joseph Galloway, Col. Graham of "Graham House," David 
Hewes, William D. M. Howard, John L. E. Clerc, N. C. Lane, John 
N. Risdon, Frank W. Rice, Dr. A.Randall, L. P. Sage, George Seger, 
William Sherman, Capt. Thos. Tilden, Henry L. Dodge, Col. J. 
Winchester, J. A. Wills, William Heath Davistt. 



*Nath'l. Holland secured a large number of valuable school lots for the 
Public School Department, in very early days. A member of first Board of 
Aldermen, San Francisco. 

t My successor in 1851. 

X Still Superintendent of Schools, San Francisco, and still among California's 
ablest educators. 

** A pioneer and the Present State Superintendent Public Instruction. 

ft An enterprising pioneer, member of first Board School Trustees. 



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